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 Ross paraphrases a statement about the uses of science originally made by Alan Valentine.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 Four of Five Hotel off Canal Street New Orleans 2053 Megan stretched with all the languor of a sleek cat rising from an afternoon snooze. The wrinkled sheets caught around her toes, skimmed over her body and traced delicate tingles across bare, recently well-tended parts. She rolled over on her side, expecting to press her body next to his, all compact and muscled. But, except for her and some wadded up bedding, the big bed was empty. She raised her head and called quietly, "Ty?" She listened for the shower. The sound of any running water in the bathroom. Nothing. He was gone. And the sliver of light coming through the drapes told her the night had left with him. She'd be sad, except for the mellowness that hummed from her scalp to her toes and her fingertips. She raised her arm up through the dim light of the room. She turned it, one way then the other. It didn't look different. But it felt different. Buzzing. Humming. An old quantum theory, of all things, popped into her mind. A twist or variation on the Heisenberg uncertainty principle. Even observation itself can change an event or object. Hmm. Good grief. She smiled indulgently at herself. She wasn't changed. She just had a really good time. Period. An amazingly good time. She curled up and caught a whiff of him on the rumpled sheet. Or was that really her? Hard to tell. They had mixed essences and flesh and sensation so thoroughly. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Him. Unquestionably. His smell. She rolled out of bed and headed for the shower. A tap on the door roused her from re-running sensations through her memory. "Who is it?" she asked in a voice still tangled in the night. With any luck, she wouldn't have to be Dr. Connelly the Intellectual just yet. "Marta." Megan wrapped the sheet around her toga-style, flicked on a light by the bed and padded to the door. The tiny security monitor showed Marta standing alone, looking around down the hallway. Megan popped the security locks and opened the door. Marta took in the rumpled hair, bed sheet wrap and bare extremities. With her eyebrows raised and head turned questioningly, she gestured with one hand toward the hall. Megan knew she was asking, "Should I go?" Megan shook her head. "It's all right. Come on in." Had she not been alone, she would have told Marta to return later. Funny, how simple that would have been. Marta stepped inside and Megan closed the door behind her. "How's your sister?" Megan wanted to avert questions with a question of her own. She sat on the side of the bed with the sheet tucked under her arms. "Fine. Yesterday went well for you?" Surprised, Megan wondered why Leland hadn't clued her in. "What did Leland tell you?" "Nothing. Literally. I came here first." Marta asked with great seriousness, "Where are the soldiers?' Megan looked down. She couldn't stop the sly smile shifting across her lip. "They're not here," she quipped softly, almost under her breath. Marta shook her head with a knowing smile. "I can see that. What I am saying is there are no soldiers out in the hall." Alarm tightened her chest. "What about the cops?" "No." A tap on the door interrupted her growing feeling of unease. Ty's voice, all business, called through the frame. "Dr. Connelly." More statement than question or hello. Although Megan knew instantly who it was, Marta demanded, "Who is it?" "Lt. McQueen, Ma'am. I need to talk to Dr. Connelly." Hearing his voice but not seeing him made her heart beat faster. She realized she felt more like the schoolgirl she had never been than the respected theoretician she was now, the aforementioned "Dr. Connelly." To Megan, Marta scolded more than asked, "Don't you have a robe?" "Oh, yeah." Megan trundled over to the bathroom, let the sheet fall and puddle around her feet. She wrapped the terry cloth around her and tied the belt. She ran a brush through her hair quickly. Maybe he had come "to escort" her to breakfast. Right. Highly unlikely. But that would be nice. His voice took on a sharp, nervous edge. "Dr. Connelly, are you all right in there?" She took a few long strides to reach the door. "Yes, Lieutenant." Calling him by his rank now felt odd, yet delicious in a mischievous, secretive way. When she opened the door, he stepped inside briskly, stiffly. He hardly looked at her, let alone at the room he had recently left under different circumstances. "We're leaving, " he said. "Now." "For where? Where's Leland?" She saw the skin around his eyes tighten in a wince. "Get dressed. You're in danger." "And Leland?" His eyes changed from uncomfortable to fierce. "Get dressed. Now." Marta stepped forward. She sounded more like a sentry challenging an intruder. "Where are you taking her?" A slight, exasperated sigh escaped Ty. With his eyes intense, he looked at Marta. "To a safe place. You too." *** McQueen could tell the older woman wanted to kick him out, despite the danger they were in. Considering the dizzying events of last night, he could hardly blame her. Marta glared at him. "You are not going to tell me where you're taking us. Are you?" He just looked at her. He heard the shower spritz activate. He knew Megan had to be standing under the stream of water. Naked. Again. His scalp tingled. The force of his will clamped down on his wandering mind before the tingles dropped below his neck. Concentrate. Avoid distraction. Don't let them get her, too. He didn't know how or when he would tell Megan about what had happened after they left the party. Delaying the inevitable was a good strategy. If she became upset, she might not move as quickly as he would have liked. "I see." Marta folded her arms at his lack of response. "Then, you are just going to stand there? Here inside the room?" He nodded. He had considered standing a post outside the room in the hall. But he could surprise attackers more by waiting inside the room. The door, being only the entrance, would offer him a bottleneck for intruders. They could come at him from both directions in the hallway. Also, he wanted to be prepared for the possibility of an attack through the window. Of course, he saw no need to explain any of this to Marta. Marta hmmphed. "Then get the suitcases down from the high shelf in the closet." He could hear the slight sneer in her voice, "Unless, of course, we have time for you to wait for me to struggle with them." Although a small voice reminded him he must leave his hands free, he immediately responded to her order. Something Capezzi had said, back when they had first met Megan on Goddard, also applied to Marta. Marine DI's got nothing on you. Vince had made that crack when Megan reprimanded her students for partying instead of studying. McQueen felt a smile play over his lips at the memory. He stepped over to the closet. Then, realization made the memory of Capezzi's voice -- smooth, cool, taunting and irreverent -- a sad one. Vince was an asshole but he'd deserved a chance to live. Maybe, had McQueen been there, he thought bitterly, that weaselly son of a bitch would still be alive. Of all the people in his squadron to think about, he was amazed to catch himself mourning Capezzi the most. He reached up and pulled down both suitcases simultaneously with a jerk. Marta had more orders. "Gather up everything but curtains and bed linens," she said, not looking at him. Her heard hangers clang as she swept them together to pull the clothes out of the closet. Megan had a lot of clothes, McQueen noticed, even for a short stay on planet. Some of her clothes, he knew, hadn't been stowed away properly last night. He had flung them aside, as soon as he had pulled them off body. And she hadn't minded his frenzy at all. Then. But she might miss her missing clothes if they weren't packed. He remembered how thick his fingers had felt when he lowered the long, delicate zipper down her back. Opening the zipper had released a new burst of her perfume, that perfume he had first smelled at Goddard, which the demands of a humid Louisiana night had exhausted. The dark dress had opened to reveal delicate wisps of black lace and ribbon straining over even more delicate flesh. He walked over to the window and spotted a thin strip of black curled up like a cat with its tail circling its body against the heavy drapes. He picked it up. His fingers tucked the ribbon straps inside one of the lacy cups, folded the other over and tucked it inside itself. Oh, yeah. Something else. Her skivvies. He saw them hiding in a shadow under the night stand. All black lace. When he had tugged them off, they had been soaked. Now dry, they were stiff on his fingertips, like the laundry had thrown in too much starch. They had to be uncomfortable to wear, he thought, all stiff like that. His hand stung from the slap. "What are you doing?" Quivering with fury, Marta stood next to him. "Put that down." His fingers released the black wisps which she snatched up. "I will not allow you to take her away," Marta snapped. "You will have to shoot me to get rid of me. In front of her. And that will make you look like a man. Oh, yes. Soldiers, you are all alike. I would spit, but this carpet is too nice, for I have respect for nice things. Unlike, you pendejo, who is not fit to walk by her side -- " *** In the bathroom, while towel-drying her hair, Megan stopped cold when she heard Marta ranting. Megan pulled the robe back onto her wet body and ran, barefoot and dripping, from the bathroom. As Megan had feared, Marta was tearing into Ty, who stood ramrod straight and stared straight ahead. Megan spotted the tiny pile of last night's lingerie, forgotten in the heat, now gathered into a tiny pile on the bed. Marta took pride in being no genius, but she certainly was far from a dummy. And Marta hated In Vitroes, as much as the most ignorant slack-jawed, loud-mouth in the world. "Marta!" She turned sharply toward Megan. The black eyes blazed at Megan as they always did when Megan did something she wasn't supposed to do. Only, this time, Megan wasn't a 10-year-old smart enough to breeze through high school but too young to legally drive Leland's car through town. Megan glared back at her. Ty stood frozen so stiff he had to be someplace beyond military attention. Megan said quietly, firmly. "We have a lot to do. We don't have a lot of time." She said to Ty, as firmly and as businesslike as he had spoken to her earlier, "Lieutenant? We can be good to go within 15 minutes." She watched his the corners of his tight-lipped mouth shift into a suggestion of a wince. He nodded. Satisfied she had stopped Marta's tirade, Megan snatched a pantsuit from the garment bag open on the bed. "Good. Let's get cracking. I take it Lt. Capezzi is with Dr. Campaneris?" The hollowness of his voice surprised her as much as his words. "He's dead." *** McQueen angrily squeezed shut his eyes. Dammit. Stupid fucking tank. The words had just slipped out. He's dead. Two fucking words. He opened his eyes again when Megan asked in a wisp of a voice, "Leland?" Her eyes were now wide and black. Marta's mouth gaped open. He couldn't keep his trap shut. Not only had he abandoned his squad to go off screwing, something Capezzi wouldn't even pull, he had blabbed information these women did not need to know. He sucked in a deep breath. "Capezzi. Maroney. Taylor. Col. Rowley." The last roll call for the 63rd. "Some cops. Some feds." He tried to return his voice to an even, competent tone, but it cracked. "Dead." He looked down at the carpet where the bedspread spilled off the foot of the bed. He knew, if he looked at Megan, tears would leak out of his eyes. "Lee -- Dr. Campaneris and the other scientists. Gone." He believed he should have added, confessed, my fault. Should have been there, too. He sagged into a chair. Marta sucked in a sharp breath and crossed herself. Megan sat down on the edge of the bed facing him. "Specify," she said as if he were one of her students, "Define your terms." In a scratchy voice he had never heard come from her, she asked, "What do you mean by 'gone?' " He still couldn't look up at her. He almost couldn't stand to look at her bare toes, on the carpet. "Disappeared. Kidnapped." He looked up at her. Her eyes were wide, almost too shiny but not with tears. "Silicates attacked the party after we left?" He nodded. "That's why we have to get you out of here. To a secure place." "What about Leland?" Tension squeezed her voice. "Will you go get him? You've got to go get him." McQueen knew she knew what had happened to the other scientists the AIs had grabbed. All dead. Just like his squadron. Only his squadron had been allowed to die on earth, not shoved out into space. Once again, McQueen thought about the bogey that had snagged itself on his Hammerhead canopy. DNA testing had identified it as having belonged to a Dr. Ray Siedelman, a paleontologist. Maroney had referred to him as "a dinosaur doctor." Capezzi had cracked, "Yeah, as in 'dead as a -- .' " She had clocked Vince one on the shoulder, much harder than a friendly cuff would have been. "Querida." Marta's smooth, even voice pulled him back. She had draped an arm across Megan's rounded robed shoulders. "Get dressed. Pronto. We must leave. " Her voice changed tone, less affectionate and more brisk. "And you, teniente. We need you alert," she paused before adding, "and soldierly." *** Per Ty's orders, Megan did not check out of the hotel. They just left. Someone had tipped off the Silicates as to the location of the party, he had explained. No telling who could have "turned." Perhaps the hotel staff. Anyone. Megan and Marta even had to carry their own bags, instead of using the baggage transport elevator or bell staff, because Ty did not want the bags to leave their sight. With darting eyes, he haltingly added he could not help carry them because he had to leave his hands free. While Ty held the back door of the car open for Megan -- the back door behind the driver -- Marta hopped into the front passenger seat. "Ma'am." Ty's voice was tight. "Sit in the back please." "This is a car," Marta countered, "not a limousine. Two passengers in the back with only the driver in the front will look pretentious. It will advertise the presence of a notable person. Is that what you want?" She could almost see Ty weighing regulations against common sense. His uniform was mute testimony that he was accustomed to orders, not debate. Megan smiled, despite her tense worries about Leland, as she remembered Ty's stuffy exchange with Glen outside the same car last night. Saddened, she wondered if Glen had been caught in the attack. "As long as you're in the car, ready to roll, I really don't care." He paused as if he considered adding something else but changed his mind. "But the time will come when I tell you to do something. One moment of protest might cost you your life. Or hers." He gulped and started the car. "Another thing," he added. "Dr. Connelly, you should duck back into the seat. It may be a good idea for you to not be spotted." His voice echoed in her mind. A moment of protest could cost you your life. Or hers. Mine. She slouched back into the seat and stared out the window at the Canal Street traffic. She felt she would be all right, yet knew a lot of her confidence rested on Ty's uniformed shoulders. She wondered about Leland, now missing along with their other colleagues. She closed her eyes to shut out any subsequent thoughts along those lines. He had to be found, alive and the same as he was at the party, last seen urbanely chatting with an executive from Aerotech, moments after he had questioned her consumption of Hurricanes. Little things, she thought. That's what people remember. Not the great accomplishments, but the little details. Like how she felt when he first let her play in his study. All the books, the computer, the music. He had been pleased when she glommed onto all the information and knowledge like the starving child she had been. Soon, he set up a powerful computer station of her very own in a converted guest room next to his study. The stuffed animals crowding along the comfy window seat had been Marta's touch. "Carita, como esta?' Marta inquired softly. Megan sniffled sharply. In a voice slightly stuffy from sniffles, she demanded, "How could humans betray other humans to machines?" Marta chuffed out a worldly snort, but Ty replied first. "Fear. Money. Who knows. You'd be surprised." He glanced up at the rearview mirror. "What about the ASCIs?" She said, "Could they have been involved?" He paused a moment, glancing up at the mirror again. "I wouldn't rule it out." Why was he checking the mirror so often? "What's wrong? Are we being followed?" "A police car." A siren pierced the road hum. Maybe it's news about Leland, she thought with growing excitement. *** McQueen had noticed the police car about 20 miles ago. It had hung back about a half a mile in a leisurely pace, unlike most police cars which shot through the passing lanes. He wanted to stay within a group of vehicles. Safety in numbers. He had sped up as much as the flow of traffic and the speed limit would allow. He didn't want to be vulnerable to a speeding ticket which would delay them, if nothing else. He knew that the Marine Corps uniform often carried weight with the police, but he figured a natural born patrol officer would wonder why a tank would be driving a couple of natural born ladies somewhere. And that would cause a delay. The sooner they pulled into Loxley, the safer everyone would be. The woman Marta had said something to Megan, who had snapped out a question about betrayal. He had replied while keeping an eye on the cars behind him. Usually, he appreciated her vigilance. This time, when she asked about "tails," he wished she had not been so attentive. He wanted her to be careful, not fearful. For a moment, he did wish he had taken a chance on a chopper. They would have only been in the air a briefly, taking off from one of the tall buildings in the city en route to the base. Yet, Silicates had no problem blowing aircraft out of the sky with stolen ordinance. Helicopters, especially a gunship, attracted attention in urban areas, despite the presence of media and police helicopters. A car could look like any other vehicle on the road. The police car closed. He noticed two heads, both wearing large sunglasses, in the front seat of the car. The siren howled. Trying to outrun it, in a car with an unfamiliar engine, would cause more trouble than it was worth. "Megan?" Adrenaline pinged inside his stomach when he noticed the other traffic had thinned out. "Stay how you are. Don't sit up suddenly. Be quiet. You, too, Ma'am." *** Freeway east of New Orleans, LA 2053 Megan settled back into the seat and folded her arms across her chest. She hoped the cop had good news about Leland. That he had been found. Alive and well. Unmarked by capture or torture. She swallowed hard. Ty eased the car off onto the shoulder of the road. He did not switch off the engine. He turned to Marta. "If anything happens to me," he said calmly, "slide over here to the wheel and get her out of here. Go to the Marine base in Loxley, Alabama. It's not far. Do not stop. Do not slow down. Just go." Coolly, Marta pointed out, "They will follow us." "Not until they're through with me. I can keep them busy a while." A wry smile tilted his mouth. A little gasp escaped Megan's lips, despite the solid competence of his voice. This could be it. He could be killed. They could all die right there. Ty. Marta. A tightness clenched behind Megan's eyes. A creeping fear reminded her the AIs wouldn't kill her, of course. They would merely take her, save her for later to push out into space like other scientists they had grabbed. But this was a cop, she reminded herself. Not a Silicate terrorist approaching the car. A police officer. Ty opened the car door to step out. A pop cracked through the air as if someone had shot off fireworks nearby. Gunfire? Couldn't be, although her shooting lesson a couple of nights ago had opened up her mind to the possibility. Ty jerked a huge military rifle from under the dash. "Go!" he bellowed. To Megan's horror, he rolled out of the car while blasting the rifle at the cop, who kept on coming like Rasputin in Ray Bans, striding forward and blasting away with a pistol held straight out in one hand. A booming, powerful round from the rifle sent the cop flying backward. Sparks, not blood, showered from its chest. He -- it -- twitched on the pavement. "Megan, stay down!" Marta had launched herself across the seat, clutched the steering wheel and gunned the big engine. The big sedan grabbed traction and shot out onto the pavement. Megan screamed in a mix of terror, frustration and disbelief. "We left him! We can't leave him!" She turned around to look behind her. Instead of screaming at Marta again, a fearful little gasp escaped her lips. A second figure, clad in black leather instead of police blue, stepped out of the car. Megan did not have to see the crosshairs on its milky eyes to know it was an AI. But it was a hell of a lot larger than Ty. "He will be fine," Marta said with a conviction Megan did not feel. Traffic and scenery whizzed past them. Megan's daze smeared the blur even more. They had left Ty "Before we are followed again," Marta said, "come up here, roll over the top of the seat and hack us directions to the Marine base. I cannot drive like this and operate the computer at the same time." *** They were no longer alone on the highway. McQueen spotted a group of cars innocently heading their way. He had to work fast. And he hoped they really were cars innocently heading down the road. He dove off the edge of the road, leaned up the shoulder and blasted the second AI. He didn't have much time. He had to get the location from their modems before the hive realized these two were down and reinforcements rode in. The head on the second one had been damaged, crunched, as it had fallen back against the apparently reinforced steel of the open police car door. The door was just as smashed as the thing's head. Frustrated because time was ticking away, McQueen scrambled to the one in the police uniform, which was still shooting sparks. He grabbed it under the arms. If he dragged it by its feet, he might damage the head. If he hadn't needed the information there, he wouldn't have given a shit. He would have dragged the thing with its head bouncing over the pavement for a mile or two -- and would have looked for rocks. The dopplered noise of an approaching car made him look up. A family inside. He saw a little boy staring wide-eyed with fear at him, dragging what appeared, at a glance, to be a cop away from an abandoned police car. This did not look good. One of the adults in the car had to be reporting him via car phone as they drove. Civilians with high tech communications devices made his job harder. AIs routinely tapped into communications nets for info. By being good citizens reporting crime to the authorities, civilians gave the enemy valuable information. They were almost as bad as the press blithely reporting troop movements by running stories about Johnny's family's concerns as his unit went off to battle. As a soldier, he could see the appeal of terrorist attacks on a technologically advanced society. High tech did not keep humans safe from high tech. He wondered if AIs appreciated the irony as well as they utilized it. He flung the thing hard on the grass. The sparks weren't as lively as they had been. The thing was "dying." Not much time left. He pulled up his left trouser leg to get at his strapped k-bar. He squatted beside the thing's head and sliced through the plastic covering it. He ripped the covering away, leaving the metal skull. He had to work fast. With the tip of his k-bar, he pried up the door. As he tapped through the thing's memory and listened to it burp out metallic bleeps of crap from its memory, he wondered if he knew as much, maybe even more about Silicate anatomy, than human. Finally, the thing gave him information he could use: "Bayou Ascension. Off Route 58." The name sounded familiar. He remembered a time, back when the 63rd had been stationed out of Loxley, a visit out to the Thibodaux brothers' shack with Vince. They had been drinking beer and shelling scarlet boiled crayfish from a pile on a sheet of paper spread in front of them. They had talked about a place not far from there, an old airstrip smugglers had kept in shape for years despite the determination of vegetation to swallow it up. McQueen picked up the distinct impression the smugglers had some help maintaining the place from the Thibodauxs. With the butt of the rifle, he killed the AI. The final crunch and dying mechanical bleep from the thing elicited a grunt of satisfaction from McQueen. On to the business at hand. He had to get out to Bayou Ascension. He noticed the crackle of the radio in the police car, standing almost at ready with its doors wide open. Driving a police car, which would have at least been reported missing by now, would be conspicuous as hell. He saw a long truck without a corporate logo on the side heading his way. He stepped up closer to the road and raised his arm to flag it down. Wildcatters, despite their obsession with time, were more likely to pick up hitchhikers, he'd heard. It took a while for the truck to grind to a stop. The passenger side door swung open. "Semper fi, Marine," the trucker cheerfully called out. "Lose your convoy?" "Can you take me to Ascensionville?" he said up into the cab. McQueen checked out the trucker's eyes. He couldn't take anything for granted now. The trucker smirked. "Ain't that where them crazy Thibodaux boys live?" "I'm in a hurry," McQueen stated. "Don't just stand there," the trucker called out over the engine's rumbling. "Climb in." *** Marine Space Aviator Cavalry Base Loxley, Alabama 2053 The last time Megan had answered questions in front of a panel of "authorities" she had been an extremely young Ph.D. candidate fielding orals from a panel of hoary academics hell-bent on denying her a doctorate. This time, the panel consisted of two Marine officers and a civilian, who Megan recognized from the last time she had seen Leland at the party. The Marines studded with medals and ribbons sat together, while Alex Pfieffer stood leaning against a wall behind them. She had the distinct impression they had just as big an ax to grind as the suspicious professors doling out her degree. Soon upon arrival at Loxley, Megan and Marta had been separated. Pfieffer had explained with a smile, "This way, we'll get all the details twice as fast." Megan knew full well they were being debriefed separately. Pfieffer asked most of the questions. At first, he asked her what had happened on the road. She told the story, twice because they asked her. The Marines listened intently. They weren't particularly interested in the shooting, let alone that Silicate terrorists had managed to steal a police car and attack a sedan on a busy freeway. They were mildly interested that Ty had left them to flee for the base. Their focus, Megan noticed, was the party. "In your own words," Pfieffer said, "would you tell us what happened last night?" For a moment, Megan thought wryly, how could I use anyone else's words? She was tired and had to watch out for the temptation to be a smartass. "I left the party early. Before the attack." His tone was casual, friendly. "How come?" She down at the shiny shoes peeking out from under the table. "I had a bit too much to drink. I wanted to go back to my room. It had been a big day." All of which were true, to a certain extent. Feeling -- and looking -- sheepish about admitting she was drunk had to be normal. "Did you leave alone?" "Of course not. Lt. McQueen drove me back to town." "Did you ask Lt. McQueen to drive you?" "Me? Personally? No.'' Where was this going? He was very specific about a small detail. The questions followed in a rush: "Did anyone know you were leaving?" "His colonel, who told him to take me back to town." "Did you say good-bye to anyone?" "No. And that was rude. But I was loaded and wanted to get out of there." "Did you go straight back to the hotel?' She paused a moment, considered she was telling a partial truth. "We stopped briefly. I asked him to pull off the road." "Why did you do that?" "I asked him to. Just for a moment. What are you getting at?" "Did you pass out during this time?' "No," she answered quickly. "Are you sure?" "Absolutely." "Did anyone talk to you at the hotel?" She thought a moment. She really hadn't been paying much attention to anyone other than Ty. She had a feeling they, this investigatory panel, wasn't paying much attention to anyone other than Ty, as well. Once again, she was facing a panel with a heavy ax to grind, an agenda it was certain she would meet. "Just the police officer guarding my floor. I don't remember anyone else." "Was that when Lt. McQueen left you?" She paused then said firmly, "He made sure I would be all right before he left." "And when was that?" "I'm not certain." The urge to snap I was drunk! was strong. "Did he come inside the room?" Careful, Megan. "Yes?" 'How long did he stay?" "A while. Like I said, he wanted to make sure I would be all right. Why are you focusing on this aspect? Is it because you don't have any news yet?" Pfieffer said, smiling again, "We just want to know when Lt. McQueen left your hotel room." Like hell. "So you can make him the fall guy?" She stared at each face. "Looks bad, to have the sole survivor of a squadron be an In Vitro, eh? He'd be a good focus for blame, especially since he wasn't there then and isn't here now. Well, maybe that's because he's out there working. The last time I saw Lt. McQueen, he had blown the hell out of one Silicate and was drawing a bead on the next." Pfieffer looked amused. "All we want to know is when he left your room." "What about you?" Megan gestured with a flip of her hand. Pointing but not pointing. "I remember seeing you at the party talking to Leland Campaneris. When did you leave? Before the attack, I assume. Or did you see the attack? Did you see them approaching? Was Leland okay the last time you saw him? I do have a right to know." Pfieffer folded his arms. "I left about 11:30, about 35 minutes before the attack. And, you're right, I could have had time to gather AIs and mercenaries and crash the party. But I was ordering cafe au lait at the Cafe du Monde then. I don't guess I'll ever get used to the taste of chicory in coffee. As for Leland Campaneris, he was fine when I last saw him. He invited me to the house on Cape Cod, an invitation I certainly hope to accept once everyone has recovered from this matter. Including yourself. You are obviously overwrought." "Yeah." Megan folded her arms, too. "I'm overwrought and I need to rest," she said wearily. "I'm leaving now." She stood up to leave. "Fine. Then tell us where you were around midnight." Back to square one. "I was drunk. I was in bed." "And Lt. McQueen? If for no other reason, we need to know why he did not return to the party." She paused. She resisted the urge to shock, to blurt out, to tell the truth. It would only pluck Ty from one set of troubles and hand him another. "His boss, the colonel, told him to stay with me. Keep an eye on me." She thought she remembered hearing that. She could hear the man's voice give the order. Yes. Whatever really happened, that was how her memory reported it. Pfieffer leaned back and looked at her. "Really?" She stated, "Really." *** Swamp near Ascensionville, LA 2053 >At first, Bernard and Lafayette Thibodaux weren't too keen on an unannounced visit to their shack. But they did listen thoughtfully while lowering the barrels of their shotguns as McQueen gave them a clipped run-down, almost a briefing, on the situation. Their eyes narrowed ominously as he told them about the attack and Capezzi's death. "He was a good man," Bernard intoned. Lafayette nodded thoughtfully and folded his arms, flexing a cartoony tattoo. A little faded with time, it depicted a grinning seal wearing crossed bandoleers. McQueen mentioned Megan's near capture, not even 48 hours after they had met the pretty professor. With a renewed pang of guilt, he left out the part about being in bed with her during the initial attack and missing the whole thing. Bernard, once again, summed up their opinion of the person. "Nice, pretty lady, " he said. "Smart, too." Lafayette said, "If we don't get 'em and get 'em soon, they'll get her, too." Bernard pulled back a rug on the floor of the shack to reveal a wooden floor riddled with knots. He poked a finger into one knot hole and pulled it up with creak to reveal a cache of stockpiled weapons still in waterproof crates. McQueen gaped at the crates, filled with weapons illegal for civilians for decades. Where the hell did they get this stuff? He knew better than to ask. Bernard had noticed McQueen's wide eyes. "Going calling empty-handed is impolite." Lafayette turned to McQueen, "You rip an arm offa one of those things?" Shit. They could have used the AI's hand for the hand print security access panel. McQueen folded his arms and looked down at the floor. He offered no excuses. He had just plain forgotten. That's not like me, he stewed to himself. Not at all. Death lurks in forgotten details. "No problem," Lafayette said. "We'll get another one." Next : Part Five Previous : Part Three Rhonda Lane Last modified on: March 07, 2001 © 1996