“Talk about going crazy,” a voice said behind them. They turned to see General Elliott and Hal Briggs enter the hospital room. Hal went over to Patrick and clasped hands with him. “You had the whole place going crazy, brother.”
McLanahan thought that Elliott looked drawn, tired, as if he hadn’t slept in days. His blue blouse was sweat-stained and rumpled, and he seemed to favor his artificial leg more than usual. “How do you feel, Patrick?”
“Fine, sir.” A damn lie.
“Takin’ a nap for a day and a half, you should be fine,” Hal put in.
“We can do that SPO conference tomorrow after I get out of here,” Patrick said to Elliott.
“I think we’ve all had enough for the weekend, Colonel,” Elliott said. “I’ve scheduled a meeting with the senior project officers and the engineering staff for Monday morning. You’re on sick leave until then. Clear?”
But something else hung in the air — Elliott was showing more than just concern for him. Elliott turned to Wendy. “Can I have him for a few minutes?”
“Visiting hours are over.” She went to Patrick and kissed him. “I’ll come by at nine to bail you out.” Wendy nodded to Elliott and left. Briggs took a big glass of Patrick’s ice water and moved unobtrusively in front of the door, casually but effectively blocking it.
“You gave us a scare, Patrick,” Elliott said. Patrick sat up and watched as Elliott began to pace the small room. This, Patrick thought, was not an ordinary get-well visit. “I hope you’ll forgive me for suggesting that you train in the ANTARES simulator for this project—”
“On the contrary, General, I wanted to do it. It was a part of the project. I think we should continue—”
“You’re not expendable. I can’t go on using my senior officers for experiments—”
“I’m a flyer first,” McLanahan said quickly. “You needed someone with operational experience to see how well a non-ANTARES-trained person could adapt to the system. I was a logical choice.”
“We’ve got flyers lined up around the block for a chance to do that. I can’t risk you again. From here on out, no more ANTARES simulator for you.”
Patrick was just too tired to argue. “Who then?” he said. He turned to Briggs. “Hal, you’ve got the latest clearance-list of applicants. Bring the list by my office and I’ll—”
“I had a talk with Dr. Carmichael early this morning,” the director of HAWC said. His tone was low, somber, like he was delivering a eulogy. “At this stage of the game we could put a hundred men through that system and we wouldn’t be any closer to understanding how it really affects the human mind. There are just too many unknowns. And we just don’t have the resources to study each and every one of them—”
“All it takes is time and training. I’ve been working with ANTARES for just a few months—”
“And it nearly killed you,” Briggs cut in.
“I flew it in combat after only four months of work,” McLanahan said. “I’m not a pilot but I flew the hottest jet in the world with only four months’ training.”
“It’s not the same and you know it, Patrick … “
“I’ve made progress. I’ve taken the worst that machine can dish out. I can control it now. Besides, I’m an old fart. I’m forty years old. A guy half my age could master that machine a lot easier. Don’t judge the whole program because of what happened to me—”
“Unfortunately we must,” Elliott said. “We aren’t getting the information we need from only one successful pilot in the program. We were hoping the progress you and Powell had made could clear the way for a more extensive ANTARES training program, but now it appears that we can’t adequately quantify the experiences of any participant. What happens to you, or rather why it happens, is an unknown. We can’t have training based on hit-or-miss procedures — we’ll end up killing half the trainees.”
McLanahan shook his head. “So you’re really considering canceling the DreamStar project because of my incident the other day?”
“There are other considerations, which you’re aware of. We do spend half a billion dollars a year for a plane that many congressmen may not ever see fly in their lifetimes. They hesitate continuing the funding, especially if there’s some pork-barrel projects in their home districts that could get them a political leg up in this lifetime … And of course there’s the security question.” Elliott glanced at Briggs, who remained stone-faced. “Our security problems have tended to overshadow our advances. The way of least resistance for these Pentagon officials is simple — terminate the project, continue lower funding levels for research into the ANTARES interface but discontinue all flight operations and plans for development and deployment.”
“But DreamStar’s up and flying — that’s a fact. We’ve only tried the ANTARES interface with a handful of pilots. We can’t give up now.”
Elliott nodded. “That’s the argument I used, Patrick. We’ll have our answer on Monday. Meanwhile, get some rest.”
Hal Briggs stayed behind. “J.C. was by to see you, said he’d catch you tomorrow some time. Haven’t seen much of James since the test flight.”
Patrick shrugged. “He likes to get away from Vegas on the weekends.”
A somewhat strained silence, then Briggs smiled and said, “You look like two miles of bad road, Colonel, but it’s good to see you up and around.”
“I’ve seen you look better too, buddy,” McLanahan said. “The general getting on your case?”
“It’s beyond Elliott,” Hal said uneasily. “It’s even beyond major command level now. Air Force and, I guess, the Joint Chiefs want to keep Dreamland open but close down flight operations for DreamStar — they’re more concerned with the setbacks in the operations area. The White House thinks Dreamland is a classified information siphon that flows directly to the Soviets, and they want to close down the whole outfit.”
“Which wouldn’t look so hot for Dreamland’s chief of security.”
Briggs tightened. “Look, I hate lettin’ the old man down — he took a chance on me ten years ago, and he really stuck his neck out when he made a brand-new major the chief of security at the Air Force’s most top-secret research center. I’d hate to repay the guy with a forced retirement because I screwed up.”
“I don’t think you’re screwing up, Hal. We’ve obviously dealing with very deep, very professional agents at the highest and most top-secret levels of the program. It might be a command-wide infiltration, or even a headquarters compromise, in which case we might never find the ones responsible—”
“It has to be here in Dreamland or Nellis,” Hal said angrily, punching a palm with his fist. “The quality of the stolen material, and the speed with which our stuff shows up over there, tells me it comes directly from here, not through headquarters of systems command. I have got to plug this leak before the whole dam bursts wide open.”
“Well, keep trying … but I do have to say I don’t think your idea to plant phony changes in DreamStar’s design will help.”
Hal looked uneasy. “You figured that out?”
“It wasn’t too difficult to notice those changes were out of place, Hal. If they’re smart enough to recognize the changes they’ll be smart enough to see that they don’t make too much sense. With all the other security crackdowns you’ve implemented, it does smell like a setup.”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll keep it in,” Hal said evenly. “Maybe our spy isn’t as all-fired smart as you think he is.”
“Maybe.”
There was a rather strained pause, then Hal asked, “How’s Wendy?”