Sipping my cold coffee, I asked, “Well, Tiger, what do you think? Is it a pretty good show?"
He hopped to the farthest portside seat and intently watched one set of flashing lights on a cop car below us circle the fenced enclosure as he replied, “Yes, it's a very good show, Ed.” Looking at me, he added, “It's much better than TV."
Ruffling his chin, I said, “Glad you like it, Tiger."
I opened my mug to warm my coffee with a field tendril as another string of explosions thunderously ripped up a hundred feet or so more of the road nearest the crater.
It began to seem less likely that the tunnel would blow in the vicinity of the barns, and a quick tour of the barn showed me that all the stalls were now empty.
Returning to the flitter, I asked, “Flitter, do you have a sitrep on Tom Levine yet?"
"A sitrep, Ed?"
"Sorry. It means ‘situation report'."
"Yes, Ed. Tom Levine is currently in a military vehicle en route to General Mason's office. His ETA is forty-one minutes."
"How is ol’ Tom, flitter?"
"Tom Levine appears to be in good health, Ed."
"Thank you, flitter. You're very good at what you do."
The flitter made no reply, of course. Compliments apparently didn't register with its programming as requiring replies.
Oh, well. I took a seat by the console, put my feet up, and sipped coffee as I watched the explosions taper off to few and far between, kind of like the last few kernels of microwave popcorn going off in the bag.
I took the yellow paper with Janice Miller's phone number out of my pocket. Area code 802. That was Vermont, if I remembered correctly. It was nearly nine in the evening, Iraqi time; three in the afternoon, Vermont time.
Conjuring up a field screen, I placed to call to Janice. The phone rang eight times before she picked up and said, “Hello?” in a somewhat breathless voice.
"Hi, there,” I said, “Ed here. What were you doing, running around the yard?"
"Well, yes, actually. I'd decided to try to keep busy while I waited for word about Tom, and I was in the garden when the phone rang. Have you heard something already?"
"Yup. He was on TDY, as advertised, and there was a snafu of sorts. Someone marked him AWOL, then changed it. He's okay and should be arriving at brigade headquarters in an hour or so. Want the number? It's kind of long distance."
"Yes!” she almost shouted, “Are you sure he's okay?"
"That's what I was told, Janice.” I looked up the list of main numbers at brigade headquarters and read two of them off to her, then said, “He bunks in the basement there. That's all I have for you, ma'am. If you're all set, I have to hit the road. Gimme a holler if you're ever in my part of Florida."
"But ... Uh, Ed ... Is there any way I can repay...?"
I laughed, “You did it twenty-two years ago, Janice. You were pretty good company. Later, milady. Call Tom."
Poking the ‘off’ icon, I sipped coffee. No more explosions rattled the night and things on the ground seemed to be well in hand.
"Flitter, please send copies of the data concerning all the underground farm complexes to Dalton's office computer. Put them in a folder titled ‘Ammo Bunker Farms in Iraq’ so she won't have to hunt too hard for them. Where's Dalton now?"
"She's in her BOQ room, Ed."
"Does the room have a phone?"
"Yes."
Calling up a field screen, I said, “Ring it for me, please."
When she answered with, “Lieutenant Dalton,” I said, “Hi, there, LT. I'm the guy who dropped by your office this evening. I just sent the intel on the other farms to your computer."
"What? But ... my computer's off. How?"
"The same way I sent it to your fax machine, of course."
"Uhh ... Why? I thought you wanted to find Levine first."
"Found him, ma'am. He'll be at brigade HQ shortly. The deal's done and you're on your own with the other farms. Trade hard, lady. Make ‘em give you a silver bar. Bye."
"Wait! Who the hell are you?!"
I laughed, “Oh, come on, LT, you know better. Have a good evening,” and disconnected.
"Ready to go home?” I asked Tiger.
His right ear flicked back in a feline equivalent of a shrug.
"Okay,” he said, hopping onto the console.
"Flitter, back to the house, please."
As we launched into the night sky, I loaded my latest book-in-progress and started preliminary editing. That's when, of course, Steph appeared by the console.
Tiger yowled a greeting and she returned it, then she looked at me and smiled.
"Hi, there,” I said, “Did you shorten your skirt, milady?"
Sighing expressively, she replied, “No, I didn't. You're thinking wishfully again."
"You understand me too well, ma'am."
"The processing upgrades helped, I'm sure. You tend to go for the quick solutions, don't you?"
"Me?” Thumbing back over my shoulder, I asked, “Oh, you mean that little ruckus back there?"
With a snicker, she said, “Yes, Ed. That little ruckus back there. Do you have any idea of the range of repercussions you may have set in motion?"
Shrugging, I said, “Farm searches for weapons bunkers. Questions about why the farms have never been searched. TDY investigations. Probably a series of hostile audits and publicity for some Arab multinational corporations that appear to have ties to terrorism. Public examinations of Saudi financial interests and motivations. Possible promotion consideration for a lady lieutenant who was probably doing all the real work in her office anyway. One very relieved mother of an Army sergeant. Other than that, probably not."
Chapter Nine
Steph's left eyebrow went up as she took a seat beside me. Tiger immediately abandoned his dashboard post for her lap. I sipped my coffee and put my feet up.
Linda hadn't called me yet. I found that somewhat disturbing. I had no doubt that she knew exactly where I was and what I'd been doing. I also had no doubt that she'd have disapproved the venture if she'd known about it ahead of time.
With a small grin, Steph asked, “Have you been wondering why you haven't heard from Linda?"
"Yup. Have you added telepathy to your many skills?"
She shook her head slightly and smiled as she scuffed Tiger's chin. “It just seemed likely."
"Any idea why she hasn't called?"
Calling up a field screen that displayed the farm we'd just left, Steph said, “No. By the way, your ruckus isn't finished."
On the screen were people in uniform herding people who weren't, cows still spreading out into a pasture, and a fat column of smoke coming from the crater, vaguely illuminated by a dull glow from below and lights from the vehicles.
The bottom of the smoke column suddenly turned a nasty green color, then a bronzish-yellow, then an explosion that dwarfed all previous explosions caused a geyser of semi-solid matter and flame.
Something odd happened to a nearby board fence; it seemed to arch upward. The ground for a hundred yards or so around the crater suddenly seemed to form a mound, then the top of the low mound sprayed itself into the sky.
A new, much wider column of smoke rose that had a whitish cast to it at first, then it began to darken and a grey fog of some sort started oozing out around the edges of the crater.
The fog didn't spread far before it dissipated, but it looked rather evil to me, like something you'd expect to see in a horror movie. The smoke turned dark and I glanced at Steph.
"Ammonium nitrate?"
She nodded. “Several tons of it, stored in separate rooms. Your explosions ruptured the walls between them."
"Huh. Too bad I didn't think of that. I didn't bother looking beyond the artillery rounds and mines."
"It was on the manifest the flitter made for you."
"Yeah, as fertilizer. Those rooms had their own surface access ramps and vents, all the right spreader equipment was there and had obviously been used recently, and
with all those acres of pastures and crop fields to cover, it just didn't seem unusual to me that they'd have a lot of the stuff on hand."
Shrugging, I added, “Besides, the military stuff made a big enough bang to start some investigations. I'm just glad nobody was killed. I was worried about how you'd take that."
Steph gave me a long, quiet look and said, “Ed, there were eleven casualties from the explosions. Did you really think such people would immediately evacuate, leaving their precious weaponry behind?"
"Guess I did. And apparently most of them did leave, or there'd have been a helluva lot more casualties. My biggest worry was how you'd react, ma'am; I expected you to give me a hard time about it. How come you aren't doing that?"
In a mystified tone, she said, “I see no reason to lament the deaths of terrorists or their supporters, Ed. My programming precludes only causing or allowing death or injury to humans within the scope of my control or responsibility."
Blink. Stare. Duh. Okay, so I'd been laboring under a misconception. On the Iran mission, I'd been prevented from harming people because Steph, Sue, and Elkor had been part of that crew. In this op, I'd been acting alone.
With a small grin, Steph commented, “You look relieved."
I gave her a droll look. “Only because I am. How do you think Linda will take it?"
Shrugging, Steph replied, “Poorly, I'd expect, but your actions haven't fallen within her range of responsibility, either, and she's capable of distancing you immediately."
'Distancing me.’ That could only mean that ... “Steph, the retirement papers I filed and rescinded back in 2000 are still in Linda's desk, aren't they?"
Steph nodded. “Yes."
"That means the dates have been blanked for future use."
"Yes."
"Oh, well. She likes to keep an ace or two in reserve. How's your PFM and robodoc business going, milady?"
"Very well. I decided to promote robodocs for another year before releasing PFM's to the public."
"Reason?"
She paused before answering, raised her chin slightly, and said firmly, “To establish ... beachheads, if you will ... of field technology use in order to create controversy and develop a worldwide public awareness and interest in other, non-medical field technologies—PFM's in particular—that will deliver an estimated seventy percent immediate market saturation upon release to the purchasing public in western nations."
Grinning at her board room poise and delivery, I said, “Yeah, a few miracle healings might do that. How many robodocs are up and running?"
"Three. Two in Angola and one in Namibia in order to make best use of Andrew's experience and his contacts in Africa."
We chatted for perhaps another hour before the double-chime signal I'd assigned to Linda's incoming calls sounded through my implant.
Steph asked, “Do you want me here for this?"
"Not visibly, but I'd like you to monitor the call."
Nodding, she vanished, but her presence remained and she gently lowered Tiger to her seat.
Keying up a field screen, I answered, “Hi, Linda."
Tiger stood up to greet Linda as her face appeared on the screen, but he hesitated. She obviously wasn't happy. For long, silent moments, Linda's eyes seemed to study mine as if searching for something, then she spoke.
"Hello, Tiger. Ed, are you prepared to explain what you've done today?"
"Sure. I looked into something for an old friend and found something else. The ‘something else’ blew up and now a bunch of people can search farms in Iraq."
In a tight tone, Linda said, “You used a flitter and fields, Ed. People will automatically assume 3rd World was involved."
"Doubtful. By now you have a report. Was I mentioned by name? Did anyone see any field tricks or a flitter?"
She glowered at me as she answered, “There are people who might deduce your involvement."
"And you control them all in one way or other, milady. Anyone else will see what's going to be on the evening news, and the Army and the CIA will take the credit for everything. You're the only one who knows for sure."
Linda's glower didn't lessen a whit as she said, “Okay, then.” She smiled and said, “Goodbye, Tiger,” then snapped, “Later, Ed,” and poked the ‘off’ button.
Tiger looked rather confused. Steph reappeared and gave me one of those highly critical looks; a kind of worried sidelong grimace with big eyes.
"You could have been more tactful with her, Ed."
"Nope. She opened with a challenge and closed without argument. All she wanted was a quick—and indisputable—explanation so she'd know what to expect during the day. By now she's likely messing with some other issue."
Steph stroked Tiger for a moment, then nodded. “You're right. She just called Lisa Morgan into her office."
"Lisa's in trouble?"
"No, she's pregnant. They're discussing her transfer to the asteroid station."
I grinned. “Good move. The public schools down here suck."
Giving me a ‘you're being tiresome’ sigh, Steph said, “Her husband's transfer came through in June. She's going there to be with him."
"Kinda figured that. Well, I guessed it, anyway."
My house came into view as we plummeted toward the ground. Tiger stood up and happily yelled, “We're home!"
Hm. He didn't usually do that after a run in the flitter.
Knowing the answer, but offering him a chance to express his thoughts on the matter, I asked, “Tiger, were you very bored during this trip?"
He turned to look at me as we landed. “Yes."
Hm, again. This coming from someone who seemed to spend most of his time asleep on the couch.
Shrugging, I said, “You could stay home next time. Come along on the short trips."
Glancing at Steph for some reason, he returned his gaze to me and replied, “Okay,” as the flitter landed. Steph zapped herself off the flitter and Tiger jumped into her arms, so I grabbed my backpack and headed for the front door.
As I saw the stacked cases of extra drinks and snacks I'd bought before leaving for Iraq, I briefly wondered what to do with the stuff, then wadded up and tossed that thought; they'd all be used sooner or later.
I dumped my bag on the couch and headed for the kitchen to make a fresh coffee, noting the flashing red LED on my answering machine. Sending a field tendril to push the ‘play’ button, I pulled the top off my mug and rinsed it as I listened to the first two recorded callers hang up.
The third caller was Toni, who said, “Hi, Ed. I'd like to set up a playdate. It's a company thing in a park next Wednesday evening. I know it's short notice, but there'll be free food, beer, and all that.” Pausing, she sighed and plaintively added, “If you can't go, I'll have to use Louis. Call me, please?"
Laughing, I finished making my coffee and conjured a field screen to call Toni.
"Hi, there,” I said when she answered, “A company thing in the middle of the week?"
"We're getting a new VP,” she said, “It's a softball game in her honor. Or something like that. Hell, I don't know; all I know is that anyone who doesn't show better have a good excuse."
I laughed, “And if I don't go, you'll have to use Louis?"
"I didn't mean to make it sound like that, but ... Well, yes, I did, really. Louis isn't convincing enough as a boyfriend and he's way too fond of beer. He might say or do something stupid or puke again like he did last summer."
Her last sentence brought the words and music of ‘Twist Again’ to my mind, but with a twist of their own; ‘Hey, let's puke again, like we did last summer ... '
Poor Louis had downed one—or maybe three?—too many beers and tossed his lunch on the hood of someone's car, then found what he'd thought was a good place to pass out. Someone found him as the event was closing; he was still drunk, still very sick to his stomach, and covered in poison oak.
"Okay,” I said, “I'll save you, ma'am. What time?"
"I'll have to be there aroun
d six. If it's as much fun as the last time, we'll probably be able to hit the road after an hour or so. Okay?"
"Sure, lady. Unless something comes up, I'm in. If the food's good, I won't even charge you."
"Ha!” she snorted, “I should be charging you. I'll be wearing shorts. Hey, thanks, Ed."
"De nada. Anything for you, ma'am."
"Yeah, right. Oops, the bell. Tina's here. Gotta go. Bye!"
As soon as I'd said, “Bye,” her thumb hit the icon on her datapad. I let my field screen disappear.
Tina? The same Tina who'd argued with her about damage to Toni's car? Well, damn. She'd been ready to rip Tina's head off and spit down her neck less than a week ago. Maybe she wouldn't be calling for bail money after all.
Chapter Ten
Steph visited a little longer, then popped out. I cranked up the lawnmower and buzzed the yard generally flat before it got too dark, then headed for the shower.
After checking email and newsgroups, I worked a few hours on one of my three books-in-progress, then stopped. I just wasn't in the mood to sit and mess with words on a screen any longer. Wasn't in the mood for TV, either.
My car hadn't been run in about a week; I'd moved it away from trees during hurricane Jeanne and hadn't got around to moving it back to the driveway. I decided to use it to check out a new bar south of town and maybe shoot some pool.
Some fifteen minutes later I found the place on the east side of US-19, but there was no median crossover. I went another quarter-mile and found a place to U-turn, then headed back to the bar just as a dark Corvette roared out of the parking lot.
The Corvette hit the broad drainage dip at the end of the lot, bounced hard, and leaped completely into the air, its big engine red-lining with a squalling howl.
When it landed—well into the second traffic lane of US-19—its tires screamed and its muffler and some tailpipe clanged away into the night as the Corvette bottomed out on concrete in a splash of sparks, then rather loudly rocketed across the remaining two lanes, reached the slightly raised median strip, and went airborne again.
Before it left the ground, the Corvette's rear wheels spun furiously in the median's damp grass and its rear end slewed hard to the right. The driver apparently tried to steer out of the skid; his front wheels were still turned sharply in the wrong direction when they slammed back down to the concrete of the highway.
3rd World Products, Inc. Book 7 Page 5