TIMELINE: "Guardians" takes place during 2053 during the AI rebellion, 10 years before the Chig war begins, when T.C. McQueen is a young lieutenant.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is a McQueen story with a brief appearance from Lt. Cmdr. Glen Ross. Thanks to Sheryl Clay, Matt Yellen, "Fitz" and "Speedbump."

The concept of the multi-national corporation Aerotech, the premise of the Artificial Intelligence rebellion -- also known as the AI Wars -- and the characters of T.C. McQueen and Glen Van Ross belong to Glen Morgan and James Wong and Hard Eight Pictures. The concept of Space Station Goddard as a facility with both university and military personnel is part of the novelization of the S:AAB pilot by Peter Telep, which was adapted from the script, also written by Morgan and Wong. Ross paraphrases a statement about the uses of science originally made by Alan Valentine. Another remark from Lewis Branscomb intrigues the AIs. Absolutely no copyright infringement is intended toward any of the above-mentioned sources. Except for McQueen and Ross, the remainder of the characters invented for this story are mine.
R-rated Guardians Part One of Five

"Both the man of science and the man of action live always at the edge of mystery, surrounded by it."
J. Robert Oppenheimer




Part Two of Five

Goddard Space Station
education and research section 2053

McQueen's body shielded Megan, who quivered like she might break free and run. He closed tighter on her and placed both hands on each side of her head to hide her hair. He depended on the dark corridor to cloak them as Any Marine and His Girl making out in the hall.

His girl, he thought, with a warm rush that almost obliterated his intentions to shield her from the people coming down the hall. He nuzzled into her hair, shifting his hands so his fingertips touched the back of her neck. The feel of smooth skin, slightly damp from perspiration, instead of a raised neck navel, startled him for a moment. Deep inside his head, his own voice clear of lust and emotion reminded him, Not your girl. Never your girl.

"Stay here." He whispered into her hair over her ear. "They won't see you through me."

The Latin woman, Megan had called her Marta, hmphed. "See? A soldier. Typical. And you made her come here. She is not prepared for -- this."

"Marta --" Leland's voice was indulgent. McQueen still hoped to meet the famous scientist, but not like this. Leland continued. "Megan always makes intelligent choices."

The volume of the voices faded. McQueen did hear Marta's retort: "Her IQ is not her age."

McQueen felt Megan's body relax a little. She leaned into him as a refuge, wrapping her arms around his waist. She finally spoke, "They're heading toward my place. Good thing we weren't a little earlier or later."

He ached to return to where they'd been interrupted, but he knew that wouldn't happen tonight. As turned on as she had been earlier, she was too badly rattled now. Not long ago, especially in the mines, he might have pushed, but not any more. Still, maybe he could take her to one of the research habitats ... Then he remembered reality.

"It's because I'm a tank." He couldn't hide the resignation in his voice. "You're afraid because I'm a tank and you're not."

She looked up, astonished. "No. It's not the T-Word. The G-word."
***



Megan ached as she watched McQueen return to the military section alone, again. Seemed like she was always watching him walk away, looking at the wavy short, light brown hair on the back of his head, darken as he walked farther away in the dim light.

She found a shiny surface and used it for a mirror. At least her makeup looked worn, like it did at the end of a long day, but not nibbled away. That she should not have to worry about this, that she was old enough to live her own life, occurred to her. Yet she had responsibilities.

Outside her quarters, she waited a moment with her ID card in her hand. She knew that once she stepped inside, saw Marta and Leland, she would be happy to see them. But she still felt ambivalence. Had she and Ty not dawdled in the hall, they would have already been in her quarters by the time they arrived. Everyone would have felt surprised, but not pleasantly. Although her difference from other girls had been harsh lessons earned young, she wondered if she would ever have a chance to live a normal life.

At least she knew Ty wanted to be with her as much as she did with him.

She slid the card through the slot in the door and punched in a PIN number. The door rolled up. She saw Marta straightening a stack of journals.

"Hello, Querida." Marta's voice sounded cheerful, bright. She gave Megan a big hug.

Megan realized how lonely she had been. She wrapped her arms tightly around the ample older woman. "I'm so glad to see you."

"Oy, yoy, yoy." Marta patted Megan's hair. Megan heard Marta sniff several times. "Ahh, the Chanel. I am glad you have been paying attention to your appearance. I worried about you."

"I wish you had told me you'd be coming," Megan said pleasantly. "I would have met you. And I would have cleaned up the place before you arrived."

Marta held Megan out at arm's length and smiled sweetly at her. "Cleaning house is not in your nature. My arrival here is as big a surprise to you as it is to me." Her expression turned serious enough to make Megan frown. "Leland is here also."

He must have been in the bathroom. "Well, my dear." His patrician tones sounded like heavy satin brocade. "Good news to enjoy before the bad. Your lonely days are history. You are the recipient of larger quarters. All starting tonight."

Megan blinked away the tears. As glad as she was to see them, part of her felt alarm. "You're staying?"

He heaved a deep sigh. "That is a result of the bad news. Marta and I will join you for a while here; therefore, we need larger quarters."

"That's not such bad news." But she did wonder how they would have reacted had she been tangled in the arms of a Marine. Still, she had a Ph.D. and teaching job. How come she couldn't have a man in her room? A genius ought to be able to figure that out.

Leland's tight lips and sad eyes told her that might have been the least of her troubles. "You need to sit down before I tell you this. Where do I begin?"

Megan lowered herself to the chair. This had to be bad. She swallowed nervously.

"Some of our colleagues are missing. Perhaps dead."
***



McQueen sat in the squadron meeting. His worry matched his excitement. He would get to spend official time with Megan. But only because she was in grave danger.

"The Silicates have targeted scientists," said their commander Lt. Col. John Rowley. "We don't know why. Some have already been kidnapped. Some have turned up dead, like the bogeys Lts. Capezzi and McQueen and the 63rd found near drifting in space near Groomsbridge. We believe the Silicates shoved their victims out a hatch into space."

McQueen wanted to flinch but blinked instead. He knew more than 150 ways to take a life, but ejection unprotected into space was a hell of a way to go. He had learned during the early part of his pilot training what happened to the human body outside its protective cocoon of atmosphere and gravity. The change in pressure inside and around the body would eject soft tissue through soft areas not framed by bone. The body would "bloom" like a big fireworks display of matter, tissue instead of fire. The matter would travel through space, unimpeded, until it hit something. Like a Hammerhead canopy.

Col. Rowley continued, "We believe the scientists here now are safe. Even an AI wouldn't take the odds of successfully storming Goddard. However, the 81st will patrol the area around the station in SA-43s."

Capezzi, sitting beside McQueen, snorted when their squadron wasn't assigned to air duty. Maroney leaned forward and glared across McQueen at Capezzi. McQueen, too, would have preferred the air but duty was duty. Sentry duty, although boring as hell when it went well, meant he had to stay alert. Period.

Col. Rowley snapped, "What's the problem, 63rd?"

Damn Capezzi. Can't keep out of trouble or keep it to himself.

"Sir." Maroney responded, "No problem, Sir."

Col. Rowley continued the briefing, "The 63rd, the 95th and the Seven Two get sentry duty. Some of our scientists plan to attend a conference in New Orleans as presenters and organizers. The 63rd gets Leland Campaneris and Megan Connelly, the Nine Five gets Aaron Hopewell and Raj Samedi and the Seven Two gets Martin Lincoln and Isaac Kennedy."

McQueen hid his excitement -- and dread. He didn't want the colonel and Maroney glaring at him.

Colonel Rowley dismissed the briefing. Maroney turned to Capezzi and said, "Try not to get two of the greatest minds of our time killed."

Capezzi held his arms out and open. "Hey, no problem." He was way too cheerful. McQueen knew it had to do with the female half of "the two of the greatest minds of our time."

Capezzi waited til Maroney ambled out of sight. "Can you believe it?" He cuffed McQueen lightly on the forearm. McQueen glared at him. Unaffected, Capezzi was off in a world of his own.

"At first, this assignment had me steamed. Us on sentry duty? What's worse than ground pounding but baby-sitting? But I could deal with a few days in New Orleans. Sexy, sexy town."

McQueen was happy to point out, "We're there to work."

Capezzi grinned. "If we were on leave, we'd only get 48 hours at the most. But you're not catching the subtext of this, how it can be exploited. Connelly and Campaneris are a a tag team. When one of us is on duty the other isn't, especially when they're both together."

McQueen didn't like the way things were turning out. "I don't think it works that way."

Capezzi shook his head. "Everyone thinks you're so smart, but you and I know you're a moron."

McQueen wondered if his protectee needed more help to ward off Capezzi than the Silicates.

Capezzi spoke again. "Know what else is perfect about this little set up?"

"I don't have to ask because you'll tell me anyway?"

"While I'm off duty, you can watch the door for us. Just another part of your guard duty. She and I can screw like minks."

Something white exploded inside McQueen's head. "You leave her alone. You hear me, Capezzi? You don't hound her. You don't touch her. You think twice about telling her the time of day if she asks."

Capezzi reared back, eyes wide open in surprise. "Whoa! What's that all about?" He smiled like a weasel. "Ahh, you like her. You want her for yourself. What makes you think one of 'the greatest minds of our time' is gonna want a tank?"

Because she said so, asshole. In more ways than one. McQueen wanted to shove Capezzi into a bulkhead and beat that smile off his face. But he gritted his teeth and stared into those dark eyes. Was that a flash of fear as those dark pupils expanded? Good.

Maroney returned. Irritated, she demanded, "Now what? Capezzi, what the hell did you do piss off McQueen?"

Capezzi spoke quickly. "The usual jerky stuff. We'll work it out."

"You better. I don't want to have to baby-sit my people, too." After a last suspicious glance, she walked away.

"Hey, Ty -- old buddy. Sorry, man. Don't worry. I'll treat her with respect. Besides, she's a science geek. Her idea of a good time probably doesn't go below her nose. Whoa! Sorry! God, you're touchy about this. Relax. She's not my type. Too repressed."

McQueen jabbed a finger at Capezzi's face. "You heard me. Leave her alone" He wanted to punch his nose. Break it. See the blood run down his face. But he didn't need another assault on his record. He spun on his heel and stomped down the corridor, leaving Capezzi backed into the wall.

"You're setting yourself up for a helluva fall," Capezzi called out. "She's out of your league."

McQueen made a swift 180 and saw Capezzi freeze. He stalked back to where Capezzi had frozen. "Remember Major Wood, who used to guard the embassies and world leaders?" His voice sounded more like and order than a reminiscence. "A leader of a pre-industrialized nation presented him with a gift, one of the royal nieces, as a matter of fact. According to that nation's culture, Maj. Wood was expected to accept her -- and enjoy her -- as a gift. But he knew he couldn't accept, if for no other reason than that she was of royal blood, the relative of a leader he was protecting. Being with her would be unprofessional, might distract him from protecting the rest of her family."

He had watched Capezzi's face which had shown some understanding. "There's a reason why you have to leave Megan Connelly alone," McQueen concluded. "Do you understand?"

"So," Capezzi mused, "had Wood been given a village girl instead, he could have accepted her as a gift."

McQueen shook his head. Capezzi. He headed down the hall again. However, the thought nagged at him: I can't be with her, either.
***



New Orleans, LA
a hotel off Canal Street 2053

Ever since Ty had begun guarding her, Megan noticed he seemed to have very little to say to her. Even with Leland and Marta accompanying, even back on Earth, Megan felt even more lonely than before. The hotel room was positively spacious compared to the cramped quarters at Goddard.

She called out to McQueen, who stood guard outside the suite. "Ty, teach me to shoot."

His voice, though still soft, cracked with surprise. "What?"

"You heard me. I want to learn to shoot."

"Why?" The sharp coldness of his voice hurt her.

"I'm curious about ballistics. Studying the physics involved."

"Use virtual reality."

"I should learn the sounds and feel of the real thing. And I want to learn from the best. In case something happens . . ." In case something happens to you. A lump had risen in her throat. "If I have to, I can pick up your gun. Defend myself and others."

"Learning to shoot won't make you any safer. Don't you have a presentation to finish?"

"It's done. I'm ready to go." She had a great idea. "Let's go over to the Quarter. Just you and me. I know my way around town."

"You're safer here. At the hotel."

"Part of the experience of attending a conference in New Orleans is getting out into the town."

"I've been here on leave. There's stuff out there you don't need to see."

A longer answer. Good. She kept up the topic. "And you probably never got past Bourbon Street? I can show you a different New Orleans than you see as a serviceman."

"What about your classwork?"

"It's the term break." She returned to square one. "Teach me to shoot." She stepped out into the hallway. "I'm a quick study with good hand-eye coordination. Teaching me won't take long at all."

Seeing him made her want to wrap her arms around him. She felt safe in his presence. The sight of the rifle he held and his stare straight ahead stopped her. When would this all be over? When could they return to normal? Probably when all terror over the AIs was finally over, but not before he was shipped off -- out.

He turned to look at her. His eyes had softened. "That's what worries me. That you'll pick up a weapon and get in over your head. What happens if someone takes it away from you? What happens if you have to defend yourself, but your blood is pumping and your vision is jumping and your hand is shaking so badly you can't hold the weapon still?" He looked at her a moment before returning to his sentry stare.

"So, what do you do when that happens?"

Staring into the hallway, he said, "I rely on preparation and training. And buddies watching my six."

"Like Capezzi?" She grinned. "You rely on Capezzi?" He stood down the hall in front of Leland's area.

"Capezzi's a fine Marine. I'm proud to serve with him." Did one of his small jaw muscles twitch?

"Maybe he's a fine Marine, but he's a jerk on wheels. I'd rather learn from you. Train me to shoot safely. Please."

"No."

Megan heaved a frustrated sigh. She said, very softly, "Ty, don't you get it? We can spend time together, alone, without raising eyebrows."

McQueen's voice was soft, kind and his blue eyes looked just as softly at her. Again. "I don't think learning to shoot will keep you as safe as you think." He turned his head so he could stand at his post.

Was he patronizing her? Megan stated, "I'm going down to Leland's. Do you have to escort me or can I go by myself?"

"I'll go with you. I have to change posts with Capezzi for a while."

She sighed.
***



She wants to shoot? McQueen was in shock. He walked silently with her down the hall toward Capezzi's post at Dr. Campaneris's rooms. Never would he ever have pegged her as someone who wanted to learn to shoot.

Guarding Megan Connelly had been an education in more ways than one. She was almost scary when she concentrated on her work. She could stare straight ahead, almost catatonic, with eyes unfocused and hands moving through the air in front of her. Was she imagining rearranging subatomic particles like the brass mapping out military strategy? When she combined thinking with walking, she was entirely capable of tripping over her feet. And she wants me to put a gun in her hand?

As she walked toward the suite, the door open and waiting, McQueen was relieved to see Capezzi didn't give her the once over. He looked straight ahead like a good sentry.

"Hello, Lieutenant," she said. Her voice held no extra warmth but was personable. McQueen had noticed she spoke pleasantly to maids and hotel service, too.

"Morning, Dr. Connelly."

She stopped in her tracks. McQueen didn't like the feel or look hinting at her determination. To Capezzi, she said, "Would you teach me to shoot?"

Capezzi blinked. Had McQueen not been mentally screaming with frustration, he would have enjoyed seeing Capezzi stammer. "Uh, Lt. McQueen is the best shot in the squadron. Got the medals to prove it."

She said flatly, "Lt. McQueen said no. I would appreciate your assistance. Just one lesson." She stood there waiting for an answer.

While keeping an eye on the area down the hall for they were sentries, after all, McQueen managed to find his voice. "I suggested virtual reality as a option, but Dr. Connelly insists upon learning with real firearms. What Dr. Connelly does not realize," he said, "is that Marines initially train on VR equipment."

Megan looked at Capezzi. "I need a crash course. I need to reduce the possibility of panic if worse comes to worse. I've run experiments on VR, which I know has its limitations. On some level, I would know for absolute certainty that I am not really in jeopardy. Useless for my purposes."

"Okay." Capezzi said. He looked uneasy, especially with McQueen ready to pounce on him Capezzi said, "I know some good ol' boys out in the country here who still plink at cans. They owe me."

"Great." She bobbed her head once with the satisfaction of a deal finally made. "Can you set it up for tonight?"

"Yeah. Wear bug spray and bring headache medicine."

"Thanks." Without a glance back at McQueen, she stepped into Dr. Campaneris's suite.

McQueen said quietly, softly, so the occupants of the suite couldn't hear. "You should reconsider, Vince." He rarely called Capezzi by his first name. "She'll be safer if she doesn't try to protect herself. False confidence is as dangerous as a foolish choice."

Capezzi narrowed his eyes. "Who died and made you Confucius? Confidence is confidence," he hissed in return. "Believing makes it real. Like pulling off a bluff at a poker game. But you don't know jack about bluffing at poker." His smile went feral. "Tanks suck at poker."

"Leave her alone," McQueen said. "Get to your post."
***



New Orleans, LA
hotel off Canal Street 2053

Leland sat in front of the computer when Megan walked in. His head was bowed, his silver hair bright in the light streaming through a gap between the heavy drapes, pulled shut as protection from snipers. He did not look up but said, "I finally have something in common with Jacques Cousteau, the great 20th century marine biologist. 'I am no longer a scientist, but an impressario of scientists.' "

Megan added, "Oppenheimer could have said the same thing."

"And so could countless other project managers before and since. Are you prepared for tomorrow?"

"Sure." She walked over to the window shielded by heavy drapes. "Is this a street view? I'd check but I'd never hear the end of it." Tall buildings lined Canal Street. Tall buildings with many hiding places for snipers.

"From our khaki shadows outside the door?"

"Among others." One in particular.

"I heard some of the exchange outside the door, about you learning to shoot. You don't have to do that. We have Marine escorts and sentries for that very reason."

"Maybe I'll study ballistics once this is over."

"I understand you made an unorthodox use of your faculty privileges back on Goddard." He continued while Megan inhaled sharply, "Expanding the library privileges of a Marine officer. A Lt. T.C. McQueen. Is that the same Lt. McQueen standing outside?"

Megan struggled to hide her nerves. "Yes. Both he and Lt. Capezzi were nice to me on Goddard." Adding Capezzi would take the heat off Ty. She could not bear it if Ty were assigned elsewhere because of her.

"Why not do the same for Lt. Capezzi?"

Good question, she thought. But she had a good answer, thanks to the inconguous image of Capezzi with a library card. Yeah. Right. "He wasn't in the library. McQueen was."

"I see. Since your interest stimulated some speculation, I did some investigating into Lt. McQueen."

The area behind her eyes tightened. This isn't happening. This is not happening.

Leland continued in a very quiet voice, "He's an In Vitro, you know. Spent five years mining uranium on Omnicron Draconus. Horrid conditions. Was a munitions handler back on Earth. Not much better. Hints of disciplinary action which I could not verify. Now he's an officer and an aviator with medals and citations. Said to be quite interested in military history and strategy. I'm told he's the best pilot in his squadron. Unofficially, the only reason he's not his squadron's 'honcho,' as they call it, is because he's an In Vitro."

Megan was glad she had shut the door. She hoped Ty's hearing wasn't extra sharp. She knew the physical skills of IVs had been boosted through genetic engineering. As Capezzi had said, Ty was "the best shot in the squadron," as Capezzi had said. Probably a result of his vision.

Leland's revelation astounded her. Both the information he discovered, not to mention his annoying intrusive initiative, sent her into shock. Which was worse, she could not say. "How did you learn all that?"

He smiled. "Lunch with the right people. A skill you need to cultivate."
***



McQueen arrived early for the morning briefing in the hotel's security command post. eHe wasn't used to working with civilians, even uniformed civilians. Ever since arriving upon Earth, in New Orleans, the military had coordinated with civilian law enforcement agencies. Seeing the white or dark blue shirts among the khaki annoyed him, not to mention the suits. He made himself nod at the state trooper sitting in front of the bank of closed circuit security monitors on loan from the feds.

"You're here early, Lieutenant," observed a federal agent in tie and shirtsleeves. "Ever think about leaving the Corps for the Service?"

McQueen said to Special Agent Starling, "I am in the service."

"I mean the U.S. Secret Service." The agent picked up the suit jacket hanging on the back of his chair. "We've got quite a few ex- military."

McQueen looked at him and asked, "Do you take tanks?"

Starling shrugged his way into the jacket. "Not yet." He mused as if thinking aloud, "But with the rumblings about affirmative action, it's only a matter of time. We might as well get somebody qualified, if we're forced to meet a quota. Might as well be you."

McQueen turned to watch the monitors. He'd heard worse ever since he'd been out of the tank. "Your vote of confidence is noted."

"Just an observation on how the world works," the agent said.

The screens, tagged with identifying floor and nearby room numbers, showed empty carpeted hotel hallways lined with doors at regular intervals. They looked very similar to each other, except for occasional room service trays outside the doors, left over from breakfasts.

Capezzi strolled into the CP. "I could get used to this bunking in swanky hotels." He tilted his head to pop his neck. "Hey, Starling, do you stay in hotels like this all the time?"

The federal agent didn't even look at Capezzi when he replied, "Sometimes. On dignitary protection."

McQueen studied Capezzi. Did he look a little bleary-eyed? He had taken Megan for her shooting lesson. Had he wrapped her in his arms on the pretense of showing her a two-hand grip on a pistol? Put his head next to hers to show her how to sight down the weapon's barrel? He knew many of Capezzi's tricks, thanks to Capezzi's habit of blabbing.

McQueen brooded. He didn't like being so distracted. Lack of concentration caused mistakes. A mistake could get Megan killed. Let alone anyone else, including himself.

He walked over to where Capezzi was checking out the weapons cabinet set up by the feds. "So," he asked as casually as he could, "is there a new gunslinger in town?" McQueen had kept his voice low. Although each state had different laws, target practice at uncertified firearms ranges, let alone outdoor can plinking, seemed to be generally frowned upon.

Capezzi spoke just as quietly. "She knows which end to point where, if that's what you mean. With time and practice, she could be pretty good. At least she didn't ask a lot of weird science questions I couldn't answer." Capezzi chuckled softly. "You should have seen the Thibodaux brothers around her. That chestnut hair and creamy skin blinded them into a 'yes-Ma'am, no-Ma'am' stupor. They didn't even spit tobacco or fart around her."

The blood pumping inside McQueen's head, upon hearing Capezzi refer to Megan's hair and skin, almost drowned out the sound of the remainder of his words.

"The Thibodaux brothers? You took here there?" McQueen could not see Megan darkening the door of that ramshackle hut back in the swamp.

"Sure." Capezzi shrugged as if there were no other place. He smiled, "By the way, you missed out. She was very grateful. Big time." His smile said more than his words.

McQueen's heart pounded. He clenched his hands into tight fists, as small and tight as rocks. Had his palms remained open, he would have grabbed the son of a bitch, slammed him through a window and tossed him down to Canal Street below. Had he been alone, he would have repeated aloud as a mantra, Never go back to solitary. Never go back to solitary.

Col. Rowley's voice barked out. "Sit down. We're Marines with a job to do, not Shriners on convention."

McQueen could have kicked himself for being so preoccupied. He hadn't noticed the other members of the 63rd and other squadrons and cops entering the room filled with rows of chairs for the briefing. The colonel stood at the front of the room with city and state police officials and Agent Starling.

A uniformed state police commandant started the briefing. "Today's the first day of the conference. Cloudy skies with a chance of rain tonight. National crime stats indicate lighter than usual terrorist activity. Silicate sightings tend to be slightly higher in New Orleans due to the large number of manufactured entertainment personnel in this city. We have a report of two Silicates attacking locals walking through a residential section of the French Quarter late last night. Simple mugging. No injuries."

McQueen hoped no one saw his mouth twitch up in annoyance. What is this -- a weather report? Cloudy skies? Slight chance of Silicates?

McQueen understood the necessity of imparting stats about Silicates as possible indications of activity but he thought the reports sounded slim. Too slim. The only reason the muggers had been identified as Silicates was because they had been seen. Period. And that was probably because they wanted to be seen. They were up to something, somewhere.

The Louisiana state trooper, supposedly an expert in dignitary protection, continued. "Seminars and workshops all day. Luncheon 1130 to 1300. Standard 25 mike rotations for each post. Party tonight at Delphine Plantation at 1900 hours, 15 kilometers west of town. Security site prep is in progress. Col. Rowley wants to speak to you."

The colonel stepped forward. "This conference sounds like a cinch, but do not allow false confidence to lull you away from alertness. You Marines will have something new to contend with. Civilian protesters." The colonel looked from Marine to Marine. "Yes. Noisy, sign-toting, possibly garbage- throwing protesters. A few have gathered on the street in front of the hotel. The police have reported approximately two dozen at the site. We have been off planet long enough to miss the movement against science and technology. The ASCIs, the Anti-Science Coalition International, blames scientists and technology for all the ills of modern life and society, particularly the manufacture of Silicates and the production of In Vitroes."

McQueen looked over at the monitor bank. The ASCIs had lumped IVs with AIs? And he knew he had to be the only tank in the room.

Col. Rowley said, "Since we are now on American soil and must adhere to state and federal laws, Agent Starling wants to brief you about how the protesters."

Starling's stepped forward. The federal agent's demeanor had changed from the way he had spoken to McQueen alone. Despite the suit, he looked downright military, more so than the state police commandant in his uniform.

"As mandated by the U.S. Constitution, we must allow protesters their right to Free Speech. They can be loud. They can wave their signs. They can be verbally abusive and appear threatening. Under no circumstances will you engage the protesters. To avoid any appearance of martial law, area police officers, not Marines, will be charged with crowd control. Still, you may be exposed to protesters and must know what to expect. Your attention belongs to the protectees. They are your first concern. See to their protection. Evacuate if necessary."

Still thinking about the earlier "crime report," McQueen thought it only went halfway. He wondered about asking about other violent crime stats. Or weapons charges. Or reports of intruders at, say, sporting goods and farm equipment stores. But, if an attack were to happen, it would happen. The Marines would be prepared. But would the cops?

The intestine caught by his canopy had left no marks on his plane but had seared lasting marks on his memory. He did not want Megan, Dr. Campaneris or anyone else to end up like that again.
***



For the first time, Megan felt nervous about a presentation. As she grew older, she realized Leland had many hopes hitched to what he believed was her star. Now that he was "an impresario of scientists, " as he referred to himself, he forgot that some "stars" fell as well as rose. Of course, he would counter that statement by pointing out that "stars" did not "fall" and chide her for imprecise speech.

Megan stepped out of her bedroom part of her suite to where Marta and Leland waited. She rarely wore dresses, and had stepped into a sleeveless dress with a matching long jacket and high heels, so she expected a surprised response. But nothing like what she got.

Leland simply asked, "Must your skirt be so short?"

She demanded, "You want me to popularize science?" She held her arms out away from her body. "Well, this is it."

Marta shook her head. "They will be looking at your legs, not listening to your words."

Leland stood up, cupped Megan's chin and lightly kissed her forehead. "My dear, you are brilliant. Because of the terrorist threats, the media has been clamoring to attend this conference. Can you believe it? A physics conference? Once the reporters see you, digital cameras won't be following Hopewell, much to his chagrin." With a dismissive smile, he added, "Most media representatives won't understand his talk anyway."

"If publicity focuses upon her," Marta stated, "she will be a target."

Leland turned sharply to Marta. "How? How will terrorists get through the ring of Marines and police officers and federal agents? Terrorists will find new targets. They will tire of scientists soon enough."

Marta shook her head slowly with resignation. "Geniuses. The stupidest people on earth. Muy tonto. All of you." Her eyes started straight ahead. "May I speak with Megan alone for a moment?"

"Of course." Leland headed for the door. "I'll meet you at the car."

Marta smiled at Megan with warmth and love. "Look at you. Simply lovely." Like a proud mama, she stepped forward and looked at Megan.

Megan felt like a little girl again, despite her high heels and dark tailored suit . "Don't be mad at me. It's a good idea."

Marta nodded. "Yes. But not all good ideas are safe ones." She sniffed around Megan's hair. "The Chanel. You like?"

"Am I wearing too much?"

"No. It's just very distinctive." She smiled a wistful smile. "Tell me about Lt. Capezzi."

"What?" That had come out of the blue. "Now?"

Marta nodded.

Megan continued, "There's not much to tell. I met him at the bar on Goddard from which I called you and Leland. He and Lt. McQueen have been nice to me."

"You were with him last night?"

"He took me to some farm out in the sticks to teach me how to shoot. I asked him to."

"Ahh." Marta smiled knowingly.

"Ahh? What do you mean by that?"

"Your perfume is very distinctive. Even though it is subtle, I am not surprised it lingers in re-circulated air. I smelled it the night Dr. Campaneris and I arrived at Goddard. Out in the corridor. Where a young woman was necking with a soldier. " She smiled conspiratorially. "You and Lt. Capezzi?"

Megan felt her eyes go wide. First Leland and the library card. Now Marta thinking she had been with Capezzi? How could she miss the difference in hair -- Capezzi's dark hair and McQueen's light? But the corridor had been dark. McQueen's hair would have looked much darker in the dim light. But the texture? McQueen's was wavy, making it nubby when cut as short as it was, and Capezzi's straight.

She said, "Can we talk about this later?"

"The only other possibility would be Lt. McQueen," Marta said. "But he is a tank."
***



McQueen already stood his post outside Megan's door. The door opened and Dr. Campaneris walked out. The tall, silver-haired scientist perfunctorially nodded at him in passing, then stopped, as if the sight of his name tag had distracted him.

"McQueen." The scientist, gazing down his own ample nose and chiseled chin, stood in front of and almost over him. "I'm glad I have this opportunity to speak with you." His tones were clipped, authoritative. He would have made a hell of a general.

McQueen froze. He had fantasized about his first conversation with Dr. Leland Campaneris. He had imagined himself telling the famous scientist how much he liked the books he wrote on solar systems, how those books had given him new insights.

But this conversation did not follow the plan. Obviously, Dr. Campaneris knew what happened with Megan. Somehow, some way -- he knew.

Leland Campaneris stated, "My protege has told me you made her stay at Goddard more pleasant. I want to thank you for the kindness you showed her."

All McQueen could do was nod. Once.

"I'm going to tell you something a lot of people don't know." He tilted his head and folded his arms.

McQueen held his breath. His eyes checked the hallway for other listeners. None.

"Megan was 3 when I first heard her doing math tricks on the radio. A small child's voice coming over a car radio speaker in the dark Texas night. Some callers actually thought Satan spoke through her, a little girl with tumbling red hair and big dark eyes."

He shook his head. McQueen could see Megan meant a lot to him. He's like a father to me, Megan had said with awe in that bar in Goddard. But McQueen was picking up another vibe from Leland, something he couldn't identify. Something felt off kilter. The feeling appeared, then disappeared.

Dr. Campaneris continued, "I had to get her out of there. Even now, even in allegedly sophisticated intellectual circles, I still pick up echoes of that fear. I sincerely believe her mind is a great gift to humanity, if only it will accept her.

"As a Marine, you are aware of the importance of new recruits. Science is the same way, only we have less cachet to offer than the armed services, if that's at all possible. Even though we seek out the secrets of the universe and devise ways of exploiting the secrets we know to help humanity, there's no clamor to enter science departments. It's simply not glamorous enough. Society considers scientists, at best, nerds whose ability to socialize is questionable or, at worst, diabolical creators."

Like the ASCIs. McQueen thought briefly about scientists being caught between ASCIs and the Silicates.

"But Dr. Megan Connelly can change all that," Dr. Campaneris said. "She can be very pretty, very stylish as she is today. She's always articulate yet approachable. A role model to attract girls to science programs. Who knows what they will discover in the future? Or what she herself will find someday?"

Dr. Campaneris smiled at him. "And you're wondering why I'm telling you all this. Take care of her. Keep her safe. I know it's not part of your duties, but keep her from distractions." The scientist lifted his chin and said in a voice deep with meaning, "Let her be what she is intended to be."

McQueen froze, part in horror and part standing at attention for something that felt like an inspection. The scientist looked him up and down, then nodded again before walking away.


Next : Part Three
Previous : Part One

Rhonda Lane
Last modified on: March 07, 2001
© 1996