“That’s enough, Stockard,” said Breanna, grabbing the back of his wheelchair.
“WHY SHOULDN’T I HARASS HIM? WHY SHOULDN’T I KILL
him?” said Zen as they wheeled back toward their quarters.
“I can’t believe you’re saying that.”
“Doctor’s orders.”
“I doubt he wanted you to harass him.”
“Harass, encourage—he said help motivate. That’s what I’m doing.”
“You’re being damn cruel.”
“Like I don’t have a right to be cruel?”
“No, you don’t.”
“Fuck yourself, Bree.”
She grabbed his chair. “Hey. Don’t you ever say that to me again.”
For the first time in their relationship—for the only time in their relationship—Zen felt an almost overwhelming urge to punch her, to physically hurt his wife. The emotion was so strong that he grabbed the rails of his chair, squeezing them; his body shook and for a moment, for a long moment, he wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t hit her.
He closed his eyes, knowing that he was out of control—knowing that this wasn’t him, that he loved his wife, that he would do anything in the world not to hurt her, that he would rather hurt himself than strike her.
And yet the anger was real too; he couldn’t deny it. He couldn’t deny the rage and wrath, the way his body shook even now. He leaned forward in the chair, breathing slowly through his teeth, gazing at his useless legs.
262
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
He was mad at Mack Smith, not her. Not Breanna.
Why was it Mack who would recover? Why the hell not him?
Why the hell not him?
When Zen raised his head, Breanna was staring at him.
“What?” he demanded.
She pressed her lips together, then turned quickly and walked alone down the path.
Just as well, he thought. Just as well.
Aboard the Abner Read
0800
WHETHER SHE KNEW ANYTHING ABOUT COMPUTERS OR NOT, the Dreamland scientist had the full attention of everyone aboard the Abner Read, even Captain Gale.
Especially the captain. Storm watched the scientist spreading out her laptops and wires at the side of the Tactical Warfare Center while volunteers hauled down equipment from the Osprey.
“See, it was designed to interface into your general warfare bus,” said Jennifer, bending over to retrieve a screw-driver from the canvas tool bag. “It’s not going to work right out of the gate, because your system is not quite to spec, unfortunately. Looks like they put in some workarounds because of bugs they couldn’t decode. But I can hack something together.”
Hack it together. Yes.
“And we can control the Werewolf units from here?”
asked Lieutenant Mathews.
Drool was practically coming out of his mouth.
“From this station, once it’s set up,” said Jennifer. “I’ll have them in the air in a few hours.”
“Where’s the pilot?” asked Storm.
“The lead pilot has the stomach flu. I’m his replacement.”
“No offense, miss, but I’d prefer—”
SATAN’S TAIL
263
“A man?”
“No,” said Storm. He had women on his crew and was not overly sexist.
Overly. In his opinion.
“So?” asked the Dreamlander.
“I’d prefer someone on my crew, if they can be trained. I understood that the computer does most of the work.”
The scientist had set her jaw and was glaring at him. If anything, she looked even more beautiful than before.
“What I mean is, I need someone who’s familiar with the ship, and who can stay on the job if something else goes wrong,” said Storm. “You’re going to be busy making sure our gear is working. I can’t afford to lose the systems in the middle of a battle, or just turn the helicopters off.”
“The computer does most of the work flying the aircraft,”
said Jennifer.
“Then it should be easy to learn, right? I have someone trained in, uh, air-type warfare. He’s an ex-helicopter pilot himself.”
“I can teach him. If it’s an order,” said Jennifer.
Jeez, don’t put it like that, thought Storm.
“Very well. I’d appreciate it,” he told her.
Jennifer bent down to get something else out of the bag.
“It’ll be a while before I’m ready to do that.”
“Take your time, miss. Take your time,” said Storm.
Diego Garcia
1100
STARSHIP DIDN’T RECOGNIZE THE ADDRESS, BUT OPENED THE
e-mail anyway.
LIEUT:
YOU PROBABLY DON’T REMEMBER ME. I GOT YOUR E-MAIL ADDRESS FROM KICK’S SISTER. I AM THEIR MINISTER. OUR CONVERSATION IN THE KITCHEN THAT DAY HAS STAYED WITH ME. YOU SEEM
264
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
TO BE A WANDERING SOUL. I HOPE YOU FIND SOLACE. FOR ME, I’VE
ALWAYS FOUND IT IN THE “GOOD BOOK.”
—REV. GERRY
“Good Book.” The minister had put it in quotes.
All the answers, huh? Starship deleted the message. He’d seen what religion could do in Saudi Arabia.
Immediately, he regretted deleting it. The minister was only trying to be helpful. Not even that: just trying to say better what he had stuttered over earlier. He’d been in that position himself plenty of times.
He ought to send the guy a note back, say thanks or something.
Starship turned from the console in the Dreamland Command Trailer’s communications area.
“Captain Freah?”
“What’s up?”
“I deleted an e-mail by accident. Any way to get it back?”
“Deleted or just read it?”
“Deleted. I wasn’t thinking.”
Danny made a face. “Sorry. The techies have it set up so it doesn’t write to disk as the default for security. If you delete, you don’t get to write it on the disk. There might be some fancy way around it,” added the captain.
“Don’t worry about it. Not worth it,” said Starship, getting up.
Plaza Hotel,
New York City
0900
WHICH PHONE WAS IT?
Jed grabbed at all of them in succession—satellite, encrypted, cell phone, hot line, hotel phone …
He didn’t have a hot line. It was a dream.
Except that a phone really was ringing.
SATAN’S TAIL
265
Jed pushed out from under the covers and grabbed for the phone at the side of the bed. “Jed Barclay.”
“Jed, session vote is set for ten a.m.,” said Ambassador Ford.
“We’ll have a driver in the lobby in five minutes. Room service is on the way up with coffee for you. Get over here, OK?”
“Yes, sir.”
Jed put the phone down and lay back on the bed for a minute. The Plaza was far and away the fanciest hotel he had ever stayed in. The headboard was upholstered, for crying out loud. And room service …
There was a knock on the door. Jed jumped out of bed and walked over—he was wearing sweats and an old T-shirt—then remembered that he had to give a tip. “Just a minute,”
he said, and scrambled over for his wallet on the antique dresser. But when he pulled open the door, the man was gone; there was a full pot of coffee on a table at the side.
This wasn’t a plastic carafe either—it was a silver pot.
He pulled on some clothes, shaved quickly, then went down to the lobby. The driver hadn’t arrived yet. Jed took out his personal cell phone and called his mom in Kansas.
“You’re not going to believe where I am,” he told her as soon as she picked up the phone.
“New York,” she told him. “I saw you last night.”
“You did?”
“At a press conference. You could use a haircut, Jed.”
“Really?”
“At least straighten it out a little.”