The pressurized c.o.c.kpit was airtight. He felt neither cold nor hot, though according to his mesh display, the temperature outside was below freezing. The ache in his leg was bearable, and the pressure in his chest had receded.

"Do you still want to know where we're going?" Alpha asked.

Surprised, Thomas said, "Yes."

"A base off the coast of Africa."

"You have enough fuel to cross the Atlantic?" In his day, they would have been hard-pressed to manage such a feat. Fighters were lighter now, with less aerodynamic drag. They could cruise great distances without the fuel-devouring afterburners, and they easily managed trips he would have once found astonishing.

"We've enough," Alpha said.

"What happens when we get to the base?"

"I find out who's in charge." She was quiet for a moment. "Charon intended to use you as a hostage to exchange for Turner Pascal."

"You already tried that." And failed.

"I don't think he intended to let you go."

Thomas didn't think so, either, but he said nothing.

"You're a valuable hostage," Alpha said. "You know a lot."

That too was better left unanswered. He knew too d.a.m.n much.

"I should interrogate you," she added.

"I'd rather you didn't."

"Obviously."

"What were Charon's plans?"

"I'm not sure."

"So what you're telling me," Thomas said, "is that you're carrying out some plan you don't know for a dead man who can't tell you the point of what you're doing."

"Essentially." Her voice had lost all affect.

"Alpha, this is nuts. You can't complete the plan."

"Someone at the base may know what to do."

"And if they don't?"

She didn't answer, and he suspected he had pushed too far. If he kept it up, she would probably stop speaking at all.

Yet after a few minutes Alpha said, "You wondered if I hated Charon. I'll tell you what I hate. He created me to carry out a purpose. I can't carry it out anymore. But I have no leeway to do anything else.

I'm caught in an endless loop."

"Step out of the loop."

"I can't."

"And if he can't give you new input?"

"I go in circles."

Thomas felt as if he were talking to someone who was pounding the wall of a cell, trying to get out, when the door was right next to her, wide open. "Rewrite your code. You do it all the time."

"Within certain parameters."

"Charon must have been some sorry piece of work," Thomas said, disgusted, "if he needed such obsessive obedience."

Silence.

"You don't have to be his slave," he said.

"Shut up." Alpha's voice crackled.

Well, that had hit a nerve. Or filament.

"We need to stop this conversation," she said.

"Humans call that avoidance."

"No. Humans call it having something more important to deal with."

"Like what?"

"Like we have company," Alpha said. "And they're about to shoot us down."

IX: Weather

"What the h.e.l.l?" Thomas instinctively thumbed the useless switches on his stick. "I don't hear any warning or see anything on the radar.""The Banshee's mesh is talking to mine.""d.a.m.n it, Alpha, I don't have an internal mesh. Put it on comm!"

A steady beeping filled the c.o.c.kpit.

He cursed vehemently. "That means it's trying to get a radar lock on us. You have to pull out of their engagement envelope. If they get the lock, they could fire."

"I will evade."

"Can you outrun them?"

"Their jet, yes. Its missiles, no."

Acceleration slammed Thomas into his seat, and he felt as if his blood jammed down into his lower

body. His cast suddenly seemed made from iron, too small and crushing his leg. Without thinking, he

held his breath and flexed his muscles, a straining maneuver to help him endure the g-forces.

Unexpectedly, fluid-filled tubes burst out of the seat bottom and enclosed his legs, pressing against them, countering the flow of blood. The jet's AI must have determined that he hadn't plugged any mesh jacks from a G suit into his seat; it realized his vulnerable status.

Stats appeared on his screen with an estimate of the other jet's position. The Banshee was using parallax

to pinpoint its location and trying to jam its radar with salvos of electromagnetic pulses.

The g-forces on his body eased, but Alpha's evasion tactics hadn't worked. The beeping continued.

Thomas's screen had a better view of the sky than if he looked out the canopy, but it showed no other aircraft; whoever was tracking them was beyond visual range. He tried to work his control stick, but he couldn't get any more information.

"Alpha, what kind of IFF are you getting on our bogey?"

"I have no idea what you just asked," she said.

He schooled himself to calm. "Are you getting any signals? Is that aircraft a friend or a foe? This

Banshee should be invisible from so far away. Even if it isn't, you said it would seem like a civilian

airplane."

"I know exactly what's following us," Alpha said. "A MiG-29 with upgraded systems, stealth, and weapons. They know we're here because I probably told them."

Thomas's pulse spiked. "Why, for G.o.d's sake?"

"Charon has two fighters. One Banshee, one MiG."

"How the h.e.l.l did he get a MiG?"

"He deals with what you would call unsavory types."

"Yeah, well, I'd say worse than unsavory if they're selling him outdated Russian jets. Why are they

coming after you?"

Her voice was composed-almost. "Employment of this aircraft activates a warning system that notifies one of his bases. Before I took off, I attempted to deactivate that system. I might not have succeeded.

And if someone has taken control of his a.s.sets or facilities, they might resist his return."

He felt the blood drain from his face. "If they attack, can you respond?"

"No. I haven't yet done combat simulations."

h.e.l.l and d.a.m.nation. He was trapped in the world's most advanced fighter with an android who had no

idea what to do with it. The beeping kept on like some manic alarm clock. Sweat beaded on his forehead and ran down his neck.

"Release the controls to me," he said.

"No." Her voice had a clipped, tight quality.

"You want to get shot down?"

"No one is shooting."

"They're targeting us," he said.

"Have you ever flown an aircraft like this?""Not like this. But it isn't so different from an F-16, and its advantages over something as old as that MiG will compensate for my lack of training. And I know the MiG-29. I bagged two in Iraq."

The beeping switched to a continuous, high-pitched siren.

"d.a.m.n it, Alpha, that's a lock!" His hand jerked the stick as the siren screamed in the c.o.c.kpit. "He's going to shoot! Give me the G.o.dd.a.m.ned controls."