IX

Connors

Sam's "quarters" consisted of a deluxe suite reserved for VIP guests who came to watch Hockman space launches. A doctor checked her arm and rewound it with bio-gauze that dispensed pain killers as well as medicine.

A female lieutenant showed up with a box of clothes. After she left, Sam opened the package and found a blue jumpsuit. She expected something functional and plain for undergarments, which would have suited her fine, but the lieutenant had put in lacy white underwear. Sam never wore such stuff, but she had to admit it felt good against her skin. When she found herself wondering if Turner would like it, she flushed and tried to think about something else. The jumpsuit fit well, snug to her curves.

Another officer came with dinner, meat and potatoes, which Sam ate alone, grateful for a chance to gather her thoughts. She sat at the table, staring into space, trying to make sense out of everything that had happened. Their escape perplexed her. If Charon created Turner, he should know how to confine him. It was possible Turner had evolved past what Charon expected; even in just the few days Sam had known him, he had changed a great deal. But it still strained her belief.

Maybe Charon let them escape. But why? Nor did that explain the Needle that tried to blow them up. She could understand Charon wanting to destroy Turner rather than risk his falling into the "wrong" hands, but if that was the case, it seemed unlikely he would let them go. The only saving grace about all this was the immense resources it took to create a Turner or build a Rex. Charon couldn't make many. She doubted he could have done even this much on his own. The group backing him might have sent up the Needle, to destroy evidence of their involvement.

Thomas, are you involved? The thought made Sam miserable. Thomas was the closest she would ever have to an uncle.

A buzz came behind her. Startled, she glanced around the living room. The buzz came again, and a blue light flashed on an inner door of the suite. Sam scratched her chin. Then she got up and went to the door.

"Yes?" she asked. She felt silly speaking to the air, but she didn't intend to open her suite without knowing who had come to call.

"You have a visitor," the door informed her. "He calls himself Turner."

Sam was suddenly warm. "Let him in."

The door slid open and there stood Turner, a living room much like her own behind him.

"Hello," she said.

"Hi." He had washed and brushed his hair and wore new clothes, a button-down dress shirt and gray slacks. He looked spiffy, handsome, and nervous.

Sam felt shy. "Would you like to come in?"

"Okay." His smile was lopsided. "Thanks."

She moved aside, discreetly glancing at his metal arm. Although his sleeve hid most of it, the hand was visible. At least it hadn't changed anymore.

He came into her living room, and the door closed behind him. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Okay." She stood awkwardly. "And you?"

"Good."

"That's good."

"Did you have dinner?" he asked.

"Yes. And you?"

"Yes."

Sam couldn't help but laugh. "We sound as stiff as two kids going to the prom."

Turner smiled, his posture easing. "How about this? You look gorgeous tonight."

Her cheeks heated. "So do you."

"Well, hey." He seemed pleased, but at a loss for words. So they stood regarding each other.

Finally Sam said, "Turner, I'm not sure what to do."

He touched her face with one of his eight fingers. "What feels right?"

She was hyperaware of the metal against her skin. "I need to figure out some things."

He lowered his hand. "If I had a prosthetic, would that matter to you?"

"Of course not."

He pushed up his sleeve, uncovering his arm. "Then why does this?"

It was a good question, and she wasn't sure she had a good answer. She spoke slowly, thinking through emotions she could only partially define. "You're more than a man. You've a brain no unaugmented human could ever match, even if you don't yet know how to use its full extent. You seem to feel like anyone else, to love and care and hurt. But part of me is afraid it's simulated, that if you and I—that if I were to—" She stuttered, unable to say the word "love," not yet, not here. "That I'll end up caring for someone who will never truly return how I feel."

"It's real, Sam, as real as I've ever felt." He gently closed his hand around her uninjured arm, but then waited, giving her a chance to pull away. She looked up at him, afraid, but glad to have him here. When she stayed put, he drew her into an embrace and leaned his head against hers.

Sam put her arms around his waist. The pleasant soapy smell of his shampoo made her nose tingle. She savored his warmth, the comfort of holding him. His arm felt corrugated against her back, but it bothered her less than she expected. It wasn't frightening so much as different. He held her with as much tenderness as if the limb had been human, perhaps more because he could crush with a power no unaltered human possessed, but he contained it, made it caring instead.

She leaned her head on his shoulder. "We shouldn't do this."

"Why not?"

She drew back to look at his handsome face. "I don't know what to do with liking you."

He caressed her cheek with his eight cabled knuckles. "I do."

A flush spread through Sam, starting in her face and spreading throughout her body. She felt the tickling sensation at the back of her throat that came when she was nervous. Turner bent his head, his lashes closing halfway. With a sigh, she leaned in to him and let her own eyes close. He kissed her then, his lips full and sensuous.

It was a long time before they paused for air. Sam folded her hand around his eight fingers, then stepped away from him and tugged on his arm. "Come on."

He went with her, holding her human hand in his metal one. She paused at the doorway to the bedroom. Light from the living room filtered inside, enough so they would be able to see each other but not so much that she would feel exposed or raw with him. She took him to the bed then and drew him down to sit with her.

Turner held her hands in both of his. "Are you sure?"

Sam gave him a shaky smile. "If you are."

He brushed back tendrils of hair that curled around her face. "You're so pretty. Like some wild forest spirit." He drew her down to lie on the bed. "I've never known anyone like you."

Sam stretched out with him, her hands sliding along his side, her curves fitting against his angles. She brushed her lips across his, then pulled him into a deeper kiss. They took their time with each other, no rushing, no fumbling. The first time he moved his biomech hand over her bare skin, she tensed, but her unease faded when he gave only gentleness. For the first time since her husband's death Sam let herself be vulnerable again.

So they came together, in a sensuous, purely human night.

Fire blossomed in heat and crackles. An ember landed on her leg and made her pajamas smolder. She slapped it out before it broke into flame. Then she knelt in the rubble, tears running down her face. 

His voice rasped. "Good-bye—" 

No, she pleaded. No. Stay. 

Good-bye . . . 

Panicked, Sam opened her eyes into darkness eased by a light from the living room. She searched frantically for Turner—and her hand hit his shoulder. He lay sprawled next to her in bed, sleeping peacefully, his human arm thrown across her waist. No fires, no one dying. Her pulse gradually calmed. It had been the nightmare. Only a nightmare.

Something had awoken her, though. "Is someone here?" she asked.

No answer.

"Sam?" Turner stirred at her side.

"I heard someone."

He stretched, his lean muscles shifting against her. "Hmmm."

"Don't do that," she said, flustered. "You distract me."

With his eyes closed, he smiled drowsily. "Good."

"Turner, someone is here."

He lifted his head and peered into the shadowed living room. "I don't see anyone."

"You see in the dark?"

"Infra red."

"Oh." Of course. He had synthetic eyes. Why keep human limitations? "We should investigate."

"I'd rather stay here, with you."

Sam traced her finger over his lips. "Later, okay?"

He sat up, his hair tousled. "I'll hold you to that."

They rose and dressed quickly. Then they prowled through her suite, searching. If anyone had been there, though, they were gone now.

"Maybe they went in here." Turner tapped the door that connected her suite to his. It slid open to reveal his living room—blazing with light.

The major who had met them when they landed stood in the center of the room, a prowler busted in the act.

"So what you're telling us," Sam said, "is Thomas Wharington wants no one to know about us besides Granger and you." She was in an armchair in Turner's suite, which Major Connors claimed she had swept clean of bugs. Sam was just glad Connors hadn't found her in bed with Turner. She doubted the Air Force would appreciate her having intimate relations with someone's top secret project.

Connors had taken the armchair closest to Sam. The major was a compact woman, muscular and confident, with straight yellow hair and a staser on her hip. Her eyes, cool and gray, seemed to miss nothing. Sam would have liked her under different circumstances.

It didn't surprise Sam when Turner sat in a chair on her other side, putting her between himself and the major. Authority figures clearly gave him the willies. She wondered if Turner Pascal had been that way or if his EI developed that trait because of Charon's treatment.

"Security requires we take caution," Connors said.

That certainly sounded vague. Sam frowned at her. "What happened with that Rex that was supposed to take us to Washington, D.C.?"

"Your kidnappers stole it." Connors seemed unruffled, though she kept glancing at Turner, unable to hide her curiosity. "Its real crew was found unconscious on the landing field, bound and gagged."

"That couldn't have been easy to manage," Sam said. "And now guess what? No one here can find any damn record of Turner and me. You say they don't have a need to know. But look at it from our point of view. It could mean a lot of other things, too."

Connors met her gaze. "We knew only that the Rex vanished after it took off from California. None of us had any idea what happened to you and Mr. Pascal until you landed here and told us."

"So Thomas is being cautious," Sam said.

"That is correct."

"It doesn't explain why you were skulking around our rooms." Sam crossed her arms. "Unless the Air Force doesn't know what you're up to."

"You don't have a need to know more," Connors said.

Sam smacked her palm on the arm of her chair. "Someone kidnapped me and Turner. They took us to the Himalayas, for crying out loud. Turner pulls off this spectacular escape that implies his technology is so far ahead of the curve, he's falling off the planet. A stolen spaceship comes after us and Turner blows it to high heaven. And you say I don't have a need to know? Like hell."

The major didn't look much happier about it than Sam. "Dr. Bryton, we've managed to keep this from going out of control. Only a few officials in the governments of a few countries know your aircraft destroyed a Needle, and even less people know about you and Turner. We are trying to staunch the leakage before more damage is done. If we are careful, it won't go further than this."

Having grown up in a military family, Sam had enough experience with the mindset to know they wouldn't want details of a potentially devastating weapon made public. Turner fit that bill all too well. "You're trying to avoid a major security leak."

Connors didn't soft-pedal it. "Yes."

"That doesn't explain why Thomas didn't send someone for us. Colonel Granger knows the routine. We go off with Thomas's people, no questions, it stays quiet." Sam leaned forward. "It also doesn't explain why you were sneaking around here."

"General Wharington has sent someone," Connors said. "My orders were to deactivate the android without his knowledge."

"If anyone else calls me a fucking android," Turner said, "I'm going to lose my very human temper."

Connors didn't miss a beat. "Very well, Mr. Pascal. We wanted you unconscious."

His fist clenched on the arm of his chair. "Why?"

Connors said only, "I'm sorry." She sounded like she meant it. Sam doubted Turner expected her to answer his question. He knew. As long as he remained free, he posed a threat to world security.

Sam understood what he wanted, though he had trouble articulating it: freedom, not only physically, but mentally, emotionally, and intellectually as well. She feared he would never achieve it. Anyone who could do what he had managed these past few days was too dangerous, especially given his knowledge of the Rex and Charon's base. Even if he somehow convinced the authorities he wouldn't act against any person or government, which seemed unlikely, he was a walking target for spies. Given what Charon had already managed, Turner would be lucky to keep his "freedom" even for a few hours.

However, if she and Turner went public, it would start a firestorm of debate over his humanity among ethicists, academics, and researchers. That debate could protect him. As long as it raged, it would be difficult for anyone to whisk him away or otherwise take his self-determination.

Sam considered the major. "So you were going to knock out Turner. In the morning someone would take us away."

"That's right," Connors said.

"Why didn't General Wharington trust me?"

"He does." Connors spoke quietly. "He needed to ensure Turner didn't inadvertently do or say anything that could cause harm or backfire. We know so little about Turner's abilities."

It made sense, as much as Sam didn't like it. Thomas knew Sam well enough to realize she would object to him keeping Turner in the dark. So he cut her out of the loop.

Turner spoke tightly. "Just one little problem. You didn't find me in my room. I was here with Dr. Bryton."

Connors looked from him to Sam. "Why?"

"Maybe I was lonely," Turner said.

Sam spoke quickly. "Major Connors, we will certainly go with you tomorrow. But please don't try anything with Turner. It won't work and it could harm him."

"I have my orders," Connors said.

Turner stood up, pushing up the sleeve on his cabled arm. Connors rose as well, her hand on the staser at her hip. Turner extended his arm, the eight cables uncurling, all pointed at the major. Lights shone at their tips.

Sam jumped to her feet. She had no idea what Turner intended, but she feared Connors might shoot. She had to hand it to the major, though; Connors didn't even blink as she met Turner's hostile stare.

"You want to 'deactivate' me?" He lowered his arm, lights glittering along his fingers. "Tell me, how will you manage? I can counter your attempts without even touching you. Right now I'm accessing the biochip you use to enhance the hearing in your right ear."

Connors pressed her palm against her ear. "Stop."

Although his posture didn't change, he must have done something. Connors lowered her hand, relief on her face. She spoke dryly. "Very impressive."

Sam looked from Connors to Turner. "What happened?"

"He set off an alarm in my implant," Connors said. "It's unpleasant. Then he turned it off."

Turner regarded her with a direct gaze. "You won't find me so easy to shut off."

"I had expected to find you asleep."

His eyes glinted. "I was asleep. You woke us up."

Us. Damn. Sam could have throttled him.

Sure enough, Connors asked, "Us?"

"It's nothing," Sam said. "He was sleeping on the couch. To, uh, make sure I was all right."

"Like hell." Turner exactly matched the inflections Sam had used earlier. "I wasn't on any couch."

"Turner, stop," Sam said. The last thing she wanted was Thomas knowing she was sleeping with a threat to world safety.

The major spoke dryly. "You've a unique approach to research, Doctor."

"It's private." It was Connors's business, though, whether she liked it or not.

The major shook her head, amazement leaking past her no-nonsense demeanor. "I certainly don't have a boring job." Her manner became businesslike. "Very well. We won't knock out Mr. Pascal. Your transport arrives in about two hours, at oh-six-hundred this morning. At that time, the two of you will board." She motioned Turner back toward his armchair. "Until then, we sit here and wait."

When Turner stiffened, Sam feared he would refuse. She didn't know what he expected to accomplish; if he resisted or tried breaking out of here, it could end up with his destruction. Yes, he had some tricks: his ability to change structure, to talk with other systems, even to load his brain into other places, as much as he disliked it. But it didn't make him invulnerable, and this base was larger and probably better secured than the one in the Himalayas.

Then he said, "Sure, why not?" He dropped into his chair and stretched out his legs. "So what will we talk about?"

Sam didn't trust his capitulation. She sat down, her gaze going from Turner to Connors. The major settled in her chair, but she kept her hand on her staser.

"Why do you think I want to talk?" Connors asked. She tried to keep a neutral expression, but her curiosity came through.

Turner wriggled his cyborg fingers at her. "Come on. You're dying to ask about these."

That was when the lights went out.