hiss.
'We were lucky up to that point and then all hell broke loose. HK units—new type, looked like a ball about the size of a head on eight legs. Darts, gas, plasma guns. I was only about a thousand yards back, but by the time I caught up to the unit… it was over. I got knocked out by what must have been a final blast. I don't think they even registered that I was there. When I came to I was almost completely buried. I picked up the dispatches and kept heading north.' She dug in her pocket, which brought both the lieutenant and the corpsman to high alert, and drew out a tattered scrap of paper. 'This sure as hell wasn't going to take me as far as I needed to go. I figured if I kept on long enough I might hook up with somebody.' She let her hand flop down in not entirely feigned exhaustion. 'And here I am.'
Zeller picked up the map fragment. It was half-burned and spattered with blood.
She looked at the woman on the ground.
'Okay,' she said. 'We'll take you with us. I'll give you the rest of today and tonight to rest up. We head out at first light.'
Serena blinked tiredly.
'Thank you, Lieutenant.' Then she frowned. 'Light? You travel in the daytime?'
Gonzales grinned at her and knelt to offer his patient a sip of water.
'Right now we do,' he said happily. 'We just blew up Skynet's eyes.'
Serena grinned.
'Man, I feel better already.'
The whole troop of men and women wore their hair fairly short; the men shaved when they could. It was cleaner and offered less cover to disease-bearing vermin. Prisoners had said that to her when Serena had gone into their cells to learn. But it wasn't until now, when she got her first case of head lice, that she understood. The computer regulated her system so that they almost all died, for which she was grateful. But getting rid of all of them would look suspicious, so she scratched along with the humans, surprised at her own revulsion. It had been easier to accept the biological side of her own being in the antiseptic corridors of the research facility, and even full-sensory input from Skynet's databanks was not the same as really being there.
The outside world was… messy.
The 1-950 thought that Lieutenant Zeller was of Ethiopian descent, going by her
bone structure and general shape. She was a very attractive woman, but remote, and very smart, no buts about it. Gonzales, the corps-man, was Hispanic and had a profile like a Mayan prince. He was also cheerful, amazingly kind, and utterly devoted to Corporal Ortez. Ortez was about twenty-four, small and wiry, humorless, and utterly straight. He ignored poor lovesick Gonzales, but like everyone else in the unit protected him assiduously.
When Serena commented on it Krigor had explained, 'Gonzales is like our mother. If anything happens to him then any one of us could die, because we don't know the stuff he knows. God knows when we'd get another medic and God knows if they'd know anything—training's still pretty hit-or-miss; they've got the interactive simulators up but some people still come out cack-handed.
You know how it goes. He's the one that patches us up and looks after us. Next to the lieutenant he's the most important guy here.
'As for Ortez,' she went on to say, 'he probably couldn't care less which way Gonzales swings as long as he's not swinging his way. But unfortunately'—she paused to bat her eyes comically—'he's so obviously smitten.'
The 1-950 took note of the teasing that went on about this unrequited love, noting that it was low-key and sporadic, almost gingerly. And that it almost always took place out of earshot of Ortez, who had a quick temper as well as the reputation of being one of the dirtiest fighters in the army.
The group of humans went in for teasing and wisecracking, most of it very broad and quite funny; anyone and anything could become a target. They laughed a lot when they had the chance.
With the exception of Ortez, of course, who genuinely didn't seem to get any of
the jokes. It wasn't lack of intelligence; he was obviously very bright. He just didn't see why things were funny.
'It's like everybody's drunk,' he told her when she asked him about it. 'But when the bottle gets to me it's empty. There's just nothing there. It doesn't bother me, I just don't see it. Never have.'
'I don't think he's ever said that much to me in the whole time I've known him,'
Gonzales confided after Ortez moved off. 'I was starting to wonder if he's part Terminator or something.' He sighed heavily and moved off himself.
One of the men loaned her a lice comb.
'You got hardly any!' Krigor exclaimed over how few nits she had. 'How come?'
'I don't imagine my blood tastes all that good right now,' Serena said. 'Between the infection and that stuff Gonzales is giving me. The little bastards will be back in force when I'm feeling better.'
They all laughed at that. Serena found pleasure in their company; she found that she enjoyed laughing. Their little quirks, their jealousies and friendships and the occasional flare of temper, quickly suppressed under Zeller's cold glare, fascinated her. She could have asked them endless questions and found the answers stimulating if the mission didn't forbid such unbridled curiosity.
She'd see every one of them dead and feel nothing except a profound sense of
accomplishment.
But for now she would enjoy her work.
Jordan!' Tarissa opened the door wider and offered a hug; she'd gotten used to the feel of the shoulder holster on her brother-in-law's visits. 'Well, this is a surprise.'
'Uncle Jordie!' Danny cried, and ran down the hall, with more excitement than he usually allowed himself to show these days. Having an uncle in the FBI still held some allure for the twelve-year-old.
'Good to see ya, buddy.' Jordan leaned down to hug the boy. Finding he didn't have to lean very far, he asked, 'You have a growth spurt?'
'Did he?' Tarissa closed the front door. 'Outgrew a brand-new seventy-dollar pair of Nikes in three weeks.'
'Sorry, Mom,' Danny said with an impish grin.
'You keep this up you'll never be a fighter pilot,' Jordan said. Danny's most recent ambition.
'Yeah, but I might make the NBA,' his nephew countered.
Jordan pursed his lips. 'More money,' he said judiciously.
'More glory and fame,' Danny pointed out.
'More injuries, too.'
'Yeah, but they probably won't be fatal.'
'Well, I can't argue with that,' Jordan said with a smile.
'And on that note I'd like to change the subject. Can you stay for dinner?'
Tarissa asked.
'Well'—he looked a bit shy—'I was wondering if I could stay a few days, actually. I've got a job in the area and you folks are about equidistant from all the places I'll need to go…'
'Yes!' Danny cried, punching his arm into the air. 'How long can you stay, Uncle Jordie?'
'Only for about a week,' Jordan looked apologetically at Tarissa.
Tarissa loved her brother-in-law, but he should know better than to show up like this without calling. What if they'd had plans?
She took a deep breath. Well, then he'd go to a hotel, and they never had
At least no plans that couldn't include him. Still, it wasn't right; what if she had a boyfriend?
Miles and Jordan were living alone together in the family homestead when they met Tarissa. Money hadn't been a problem; their parents, killed in a car accident along with their little sister, had been heavily insured.
