Turning to Wallace, I asked, “Would you like your very own copy for future reference?"
He glanced at me, then returned his gaze to the screen.
"Hell, yes, I want a copy,” he muttered, “Jesus! You were doing four-forty when you were coming back toward us!"
"Yup. Getting flat on the board gives me an extra sixty-one miles per hour. Flitter, send a copy of my flight to Linda's datapad, please. A copy to Wallace's, too."
Donna asked softly, “How the hell do you even stay on it at those speeds?"
"Fields. The board won't let me fall off while it's moving and its field shapes itself to deflect wind as much as possible."
Wallace finally turned to face me and said, “This is one helluva step up from hang gliders, Ed. Linda told me you came up with this idea. True?"
"Almost. Not quite. Steph and Sue had considered a number of entertainment product possibilities, but their board design had a forty mile per hour speed limit and didn't fly above ten feet or so. I came up with this version."
"If you wouldn't mind, I'd like a copy."
"I'd rather hang onto my design and sell you some boards, Cap. No offense, but you work for the US Navy, so there's no reason to hand out freebies. Show ‘em the video and make ‘em cough up some money. The boards are two grand apiece."
He gave me a slightly dark look and said, “We could simply ask the Amarans to make them for us."
"Uh, huh. Do you have any flitter plans yet, Cap? Even if you could somehow convince the Amarans to make a version like mine, you'd end up paying five grand a board."
Linda asked, “Would Steph, Sue, or the Amarans even allow you to make and sell the boards, Ed? And what happens if someone tries to tinker with the engine?"
"The board uses broadcast power, Linda. There's no engine. That's why I can only go four-forty at full blast."
Wallace chortled, “'Only four-forty', he says. Ha."
Chapter Eighteen
One of the base flitters settled to earth near us. When its field turned transparent, I saw Angela Horn stepping off the deck. She saluted Wallace and nodded to Linda, then asked, “May I join the group? Flit One's alert sounded on my way in from Oregon and I saw Ed flying around down here."
Linda nodded. “Sure, Angela. Ed's come up with a new toy and he's trying to sell them to Emory."
Indicating Donna, I said, “Angela, this is Captain Donna Perrin, formerly with the Army. Donna, this is Angela Horn. I don't know her current rank, but she's a flitter pilot, among other things."
Angela grinned as she shook Donna's hand and said, “I'm a 1st Lieutenant, Captain Perrin."
"Call me Donna, please,” said Donna. Turning to me, she said, “And I'm not a captain at the moment, Ed. Maybe later, if I go back in."
Shrugging, I said, “Hey, you don't need jewelry on your collar to rate my salute, ma'am. I've seen you in action."
For a moment, she seemed to think I was making some kind of double-entendre joke, but I met her gaze until she realized I wasn't. Angela stepped onto my flitter to study my board and the field screen.
"Wooww!” she breathed as she followed the video, “How do I get one of these?!"
Stepping up beside her, I said, “Raht cheer, ma'am. Be the first one on your block. They're only two grand apiece."
Without batting an eye, she asked, “Do you take plastic?"
"This place has its own bank, you know. I'll wait while you run inside for cash."
She turned away from the screen to look at me and asked, “Are you serious?"
Nodding, I said, “Yup.” My back was to Wallace and Linda, so I added in a whisper, “But seeing as how it's for you, make it one thousand and your deep, undying gratitude."
Giving me a wry look, she grinningly asked, “Just how grateful are we talking about? My boyfriend will want to know."
I shrugged and grinned back as I said, “However grateful you want to be, I guess, as long as it's ‘deep and undying', per the verbal contract."
She stuck her hand out. “Yeah, I can do that. Okay, you got it. Are you going to be here for lunch?"
"Yeah. Linda's treating us at the mess hall."
Linda said, “As I told you, we prefer to call it the ‘dining facility'."
"Ah, so you did. Yes'm."
Angela snickered. “Okay, Ed. I'll see you there."
"Better yet, come with us. We can do this deal after lunch."
She glanced at Linda and Wallace. Wallace nodded.
"Okay,” she said. “Does it come with lessons?"
"Oh, yeah. I learned the hard way. You won't have to."
Donna stepped up beside us and asked, “Is this a private deal, or can I get one, too?"
For some reason, I glanced at Linda to see how she'd take that idea. It wasn't in any way her decision to make at that point, but I wanted her opinion.
Linda's left eyebrow went up quizzically, but she gave no indication that she had an objection. Good enough. I turned back to Donna.
Nodding, I said, “I'll sell you one, but there's a string attached to it. Linda may want to talk to you later. I'd like you to seriously consider whatever she has to say."
Donna gave me a studious look for a moment, then looked at Linda, who met her gaze without comment or expression. Donna turned back to me and nodded. “Okay."
I asked Linda, “Is range six available today?” She nodded, so I said, “Okay, then; let's go there after lunch."
"Can't,” said Linda. “Meetings all afternoon. Emory?"
"I can get loose,” said Wallace, “And I'll make sure Lt. Horn can be there. Range six it is."
As we headed for the ‘dining facility', Tiger asked if he could explore the base. I told him that he'd have to have Elkor with him.
Tiger said something in cat and Elkor materialized beside him in his cat suit.
Elkor said, “Hello, all,” then looked at me and said, “I would be happy to accompany Tiger, Ed."
"Thanks, Elkor. How are things working out in Boston?"
"Very well, thank you."
"Good news, indeed. Congratulations, dude."
"Uh...” Donna eased forward and very quietly asked me, “Did that cat just ... appear out of nowhere?"
"Of course not. He was in Boston. That's technically a ‘somewhere', isn't it?"
Angela snickered as Donna sighed and said, “I mean ... I mean, he just ... popped ... into being there."
Nodding, I said, “Yeah, that's a good description for it. Elkor, Tiger; we're off to find some food. You guys have a good time."
Tiger and Elkor hopped off the flitter and trotted toward the hangars. I told my flitter to park above the Admin building and Angela sent her flitter to hangar two.
Wallace and Linda more or less led the way into the building, but as we stopped to let Chuck issue Donna a base ID, Linda whispered something to Wallace, then hung back a bit and fell into step with me.
"We need a word,” she whispered, “Follow my lead."
I nodded and Linda said aloud, “Ed, let's save a trip and detour past my office. You need to sign off on something and I want to get my purse."
With a small salute, I said, “Aye, aye, milady,” then I looked at Wallace and said, “See? I know some Navy words, too."
Wallace gave me an ‘uh, huh’ sort of look and said to Linda, “We'll see you there, Linda. Keep a leash on him indoors."
Our group split with a couple of giggles from Donna. Once Linda's office door closed behind us, she turned to face me.
"Ed, do you really think selling those boards to civilians is such a good idea?"
Shrugging, I said, “They can't crash into anything; the boards won't let them. Only the owner will be able to ride his or her board. Now another question; why didn't Wallace say anything when I agreed to sell Angela a board? And for all his interest, why didn't he ask to buy one, too?"
She smiled. “Maybe—unlike some people—he isn't an eighteen-year-old kid at heart."
Shaking my head, I said, �
��Cute, but not good enough. He paraglides with a PFM. If he didn't have some nerve and a penchant for flying, that flatly wouldn't happen. Now, about Donna; her board is just bait. If you decide you want her to sign up with 3rd World and she seems reluctant, you can dangle a PFM in front of her to help close the deal."
"Why are you so hot to see her join 3rd World, Ed?"
"Just a feeling, Linda. Within three days of coming home, she planned a recovery op against her larcenous hubby and his lawyer girlfriend that would have worked perfectly without my help. She doesn't mind getting dirty—even very dirty—doesn't panic at new things, and didn't hesitate to use herself as bait when setting her hubby up for a murder attempt that would take him out of play while she worked."
Linda lifted a folder from her desk and handed it to me as she chuckled, “Maybe you see her as a kindred spirit. She's certainly had the training."
In the folder was a copy of Donna's Army 201 file. I scanned a few pages, but didn't see anything obvious or familiar, like Ranger school or Green Beret training. Fact is, I couldn't remember ever hearing of female Rangers or Green Beanies.
"Page six, middle,” said Linda, “The Army doesn't want the kind of press that would accompany putting women through clandestine combat schools. They sent her to the Agency's version of Recon school a few years ago. She's been part of half a dozen clandestine ops since then."
Parking her butt on her desk, Linda handed me another folder and said, “She's fluent in two extra languages. She goes in as a wife or a girlfriend, a private nurse, or maybe as a business associate or a tourist. If things get unpleasant, she's capable of extracting herself under almost any circumstances."
I flipped through the pages to see what kind of ops. Four of them were resupply runs in which money and equipment had been delivered to intel types in regions hostile to the US.
Two of her ops had been extractions; one to retrieve an American woman who'd finally located her missing daughter in Saudi Arabia. The other involved a man who'd been taken by a radical student group from his hotel room in Iran.
Both ops had been successful, but the last one had turned nasty. After disarming the students, one of them—a twelve-year-old boy who'd been the group's gofer—had made a dive across the room for a rifle and aimed it at one of Donna's team.
Donna and another member of her team had fired first.
As I finished reading the page, I asked, “Is the dead kid the reason she left the Army?"
"Although that wasn't the reason given, I think it may be a possibility. Or a strong contributing factor."
When I looked up from scanning the folder, she added, “At least I've found no reasons to believe that anyone set up your encounter with her."
Her statement didn't startle me. Elaborate schemes to set up meetings aren't at all unusual. I nodded.
"Well, that's somewhat comforting,” I said, handing the folder back, “But it's also about what I expected. Most plain ol’ everyday female ex-Army captains would have taken him to court instead of doing what she did."
Un-assing her desk and opening a drawer to retrieve her purse, Linda laughed, “Well, I'm glad to know you aren't simply lost in lust for her, of course. I'd like some more time to check her out, Ed. At least a week."
"Okay,” I said with a shrug, “If anything worthy of mention comes up in the meantime, I'll pass it along."
As we left her office, I said, “Be honest, milady; you just want me to wine her and dine her and do all the heavy recruiting work, right?"
Linda laughed and set the door's lock with her keycard.
Chapter Nineteen
When we arrived at the mess hall—pardon, the ‘dining facility'—we found that Wallace and Donna had already been through the serving line and had claimed a table near the doors. Angela was nowhere in sight.
Linda and I went through the serving line and joined them at the table just as Angela came marching in, waving as she passed the table on her way to the serving line.
Lunch was quick and there was a lot of excited chatter, mostly questions about the flying boards. As I cut the last of my steak into Tiger-sized bits and scooped the bits into a small self-sealing plastic bag, Angela reached in her back pocket and produced a green and white bank envelope.
"Your money,” she said, handing me the envelope.
"Thanks,” I replied, folding it and stuffing it into a shirt pocket, then scooping the rest of the steak into the baggie.
"Do you always carry that plastic bag?"
"Only when I'm likely to find steak bits for Tiger.” Sealing the bag, I added, “Or lemon chicken. He likes that, too."
"Will I get a receipt? Some kind of registration paper?"
Looking up from the bag, I shook my head. “Nope. Just a flying board that won't work for anyone else and won't let you crash into anything."
Donna asked, “They really can't crash?"
"Nope."
I saw a busboy pushing his cart in our general direction and asked Linda, “When did they start bussing tables here?"
"When it became politically expedient to provide some part-time jobs for local kids.” She picked up her purse, stood up, and said, “Donna, it was nice to meet you. Goodbye, all. It's back to the salt mine for me."
Wallace and had I stood up with her, and by the time she'd finished speaking, Angela and Donna were also on their feet. We all made our goodbyes as we left together, then split up in the corridor.
Calling up a field screen as we walked, I had it locate Tiger, then asked, “Tiger, do you want to come out to the range with us or continue exploring?"
"I will stay here, Ed."
"Okay. I'll put your steak in the flitter cooler."
"Thank you."
We took my flitter to the range and everybody stepped off by the snack building. I put things on hold to visit the bathroom, and while alone, I told the flitter to turn on its opaque hull field and make two more flying boards like mine.
"Make them so that they'll only work for the person to whom they're issued, please,” I said, “And make sure you can track them later if necessary."
As I zipped up, something else occurred to me; as private property, the boards had to be stand-alone devices. I controlled my board through my PFM implants. Angela's stick-on PFM had been issued to her as a 3rd World Products employee, and Donna had no PFM.
"Flitter, another thought; Donna doesn't have a PFM, so the boards will have to generate their own protective fields. Also, we're going to add controls to the boards. We need some kind of all-in-one device like your old control egg. Could it be a stick-on, like a PFM?"
"Yes, Ed."
I washed my hands and said, “No problem, then."
"Ed, may I make a comment?"
Huh? What? No ... ‘what the hell?!’ was more like it.
"Excuse me, flitter? You want to make a ‘comment'?"
"Yes, Ed."
"Well, it's a little unexpected, but go ahead."
"Yes, Ed. A control device would interpret motor impulses from the owner's brain. The board is already capable of monitoring those impulses. A control device would not be necessary within nine feet of the board."
Blink. Stare at self in the mirror. Absently grab a paper towel to dry hands and think. I'd keyed my board to my implant without ever considering that any other means of control might be either necessary or available.
"Good, flitter,” I said, “Very good. But people would have to adapt themselves, and that could be a big problem. We'll use a simple ‘up-down-left-right-forward-back’ command set through a stick-on control device. Now ... Did the idea to make that suggestion occur to you, or did someone suggest it to you?"
"It occurred to me that there was no logical reason to add an extraneous control device, Ed."
"Uh, huh. Okay, but there is a logical reason; humans have limitations, and I may want to sell boards to people who aren't able to adapt well. Thanks for the info, flitter."
My flit wasn't supposed to think for itself. As I le
ft the bathroom, I keyed my implant to call Steph.
"Yes, Ed?” she answered.
"Is my current flitter computer sentient, Steph?"
"No. Why?"
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
"Then how is it making conceptual suggestions, ma'am?"
"We added some of our interpretive routines to its matrix."
"Ah. That simple, huh?"
"Yes, Ed. That simple."
Sighing, I said, “Sorry to have bothered you, milady. Oh, wait ... does my selling flight boards in any way affect any of your interests?"
"No, Ed, but thanks for asking. Sue and I have our own designs and we have no immediate plans to market the devices on Earth."
"Kewl. Next time I'll try to remember to ask before I sell something. Thanks, Steph."
"You're welcome, Ed. Bye.” She dropped the link.
Ambling up to the others, I wadded the paper towel I'd used and tossed it at my flitter. When it hit the hull field, the wad flared brightly and disappeared, causing Donna to gasp.
"What the hell..?"
"I don't litter. Flitter, send out the boards and their controls, please. One goes to Angela and the other goes to Donna."
The boards zipped off the flitter and stopped, hovering about a foot off the ground next to the women. On the center of each board lay a metallic-looking disk about two inches in diameter.
Angela exclaimed, “You mean they've been aboard the flitter this whole time?"
Grinning, I said, “Just put your hands on your boards, ladies. Let ‘em get a taste of you so they can lock on your DNA. Afterwards, your board will respond only to you."
The women looked as if they were kneeling to pet puppies or something as they reached for their boards and ran their hands over them.
In truth, even the briefest touch is enough with such devices, but I wanted to give the ladies a reason to really study their boards without feeling self-conscious about it. The activity would end when either of the women asked how long she had to keep touching her board.
Wallace watched them for a few moments, then looked at me with a wry look as if he thought I had some ulterior motive for having the ladies handle their boards. I returned his wry look with one that said, ‘Get your mind out of the gutter.'
3rd World Products, Inc. Book 7 Page 11