Stealth set the fork down and picked up her glass. She sipped some water and looked at him over the rim. “It will be awkward to carry both Madelyn and whatever supplies you plan to take as a goodwill gesture.”
He shook his head. “I can just get a safety harness or something to clip her to my back, and that leaves my hands free.”
“You have never carried a large amount of weight while flying for a significant amount of time.”
“She’s not exactly heavy. She’s, what, maybe a hundred pounds?”
Stealth nodded once, picked her fork back up, and turned her attention back to her plate. She ate another two mouthfuls of salad in her efficient manner before she looked up at him again. She blinked twice, her eyelids sliding down and up across her pupils. “Are you awaiting some word of approval from me, George?”
“Kind of, yeah.”
“Your reasoning is sound. If you need approval from me, you have it.”
He smiled. “Really?”
“Of course.”
“I have to admit, I was a little worried about what you’d think since it’s such a last-minute idea.”
Stealth lifted her napkin and dabbed at her lips. She pushed her chair away from the table, stood up, and walked into the bedroom. She returned with a square of folded black material that looked like rubber. “Madelyn will need this.”
She held it out to him and he stood to take it. “What is it?”
“An insulated wet suit. There is a good chance your journey will involve cold and possible immersion.”
St. George shook it out. It was a narrow shadow with white accent lines down the front that gave it a high-tech look. “Should I even ask when you got this?”
“I located it for her before I came to make dinner,” said Stealth. “It should fit perfectly.”
“WATCH IT,” GIBBS called out to the people in Mean Green. “If Dr. Morris sees you moving the components like that she’ll tear you a new one.”
Taylor and Hector de la Vega muttered something in the back of the truck. They lifted the exoskeleton’s leg again, gentler than before, and worked the padded blanket around the mechanical limb. Hector strapped it against the tool chest while Taylor hopped down onto the liftgate to help Cesar and Gus Hancock carry the other leg out of Danielle’s workshop.
St. George tilted his head at the two soldiers carrying the leg. “Why are you having them carry them out like that?”
Gibbs glanced at him. At his lapels. They’d been standing together for twenty minutes. Gibbs had managed to avoid eye contact the whole time. “Like what, sir?”
“All loose. Danielle has a bunch of custom cases and forms all lined with foam, doesn’t she?”
“She did,” said the lieutenant. “Once we started building the Mark Two, they were all useless. These components are all a little bigger, and they connect in different places. The old forms were too custom to hold them.”
“Ahhhh,” said St. George.
“She cut up one of them to make a new pillow, I think.”
“Sounds like her.”
Taylor and Hancock heaved the leg up onto the truck’s liftgate. It rang with the dull peal of metal on metal. Cesar’s face scrunched up. The two soldiers both smirked, then glanced over at Gibbs.
“Real funny,” he said.
“Sorry,” said Taylor. After a moment he added, “Sir.”
“Get it strapped down and I might forget to have First Sergeant Kennedy drive her foot up your ass.”
Taylor’s lip curled. He huffed in a breath.
“Unless you want me to drive my foot up your ass,” Gibbs said. He took a step forward. His steel toes scraped the pavement, and the mechanical ankle whisked as it adjusted. “Because her foot is going to hurt a lot less than mine, believe me.”
Taylor glared at the lieutenant. Then he turned away and lifted the exoskeleton leg up onto the truck bed. Hancock kept quiet and followed the other man’s lead.
The truck’s door opened and Mike Truman, another one of the Unbreakables, hopped out. “Big Red’s calling from the East Gate,” he said. “They want to know how much longer.”
St. George looked up at the sky. It was past noon, almost one. About six hours of daylight left, and the trip out to Eden could take five if too many exes clogged the road. “Maybe you should have Cerberus assembled and ready, just in case,” he said to Gibbs.
The lieutenant bit back a sigh and shook his head. “It’d take us over an hour to get it unloaded and assembled.”
“I could help.”
“I figured you would. That’s why I said an hour.” Gibbs glanced into the truck, where Hector levered another ratchet strap back and forth. “That’s the last piece. Just let us grab our bags and I think we’re ready to go.”
A few nods passed back and forth between the group. Cesar hopped off the back of the truck and dashed back into the workshop. Truman headed back to the cab. “Let me know when it’s all good to go,” he called up to Hector.
“Dr. Morris,” shouted Gibbs. “Train’s leaving, ma’am.”
Cesar came back with a safety-orange backpack slung over his shoulder. “She’s coming,” he said. He looked at Gibbs. “She just needed some last-minute stuff, y’know?”
Gibbs dipped his chin in understanding. St. George counted off four Mississippis and wondered if Danielle was going to need help stepping outside. Then he saw movement inside and relaxed.
“Sorry,” she called out as she shuffled forward. “Just locking up a few last things.” She stopped at the oversized doorway and set her duffel bag down. Her fingers flexed inside work gloves, she turned to the door, and then looked down at her bag again.
The collar of her contact suit peeked out from under a threadbare flannel shirt, covered by a battered hoodie. Her Army Combat Uniform jacket rode on top of all of it. She was thin enough that it didn’t make her look too bulky, but her hunched-up
