Twenty-Three.

As soon as the plane safely reached a straight and level course above the clouds, Alec turned in his seat and faced the pilot, who sat hunched behind the wheel, eyes rigidly-focused upon the thick glass of the forward windshield. Alec had to tap him gently on the shoulder to attract his attention.

Cargill turned and smiled at Alec.

"I have a right to know what's going on," Alec said.

"Eh?" said Cargill. He cupped his ear and grimaced painfully. "I didn't catch that." He turned back and faced the windshield.

The plane was a classic, battered, twin-engined jet. The noise of the engines thundered through the tiny cramped cockpit.

Alec shouted: "I want to know what happened back there! At the house! If you didn't kill her, who did?"

"Weren't you there?" Cargill was shouting too. "At the house, I mean." He smiled, then shook his head to indicate his confusion. "I was sure you-"

"Now wait a-" Alec began.

Cargill waved him silent. The small viewscreen in the center of the plane's control panel was flashing in a brilliant display of rainbow colors. Cargill reached out and removed the phone. The viewscreen failed to clear. Cargill began to talk, barely whispering. From what little Alec could overhear, they were being ordered to land immediately.

Turning in his seat, Alec looked outside. Beneath lay a soft, plush, unbroken layer of lazy white clouds. They had left the ground flying east but he had no way of knowing where they were going now. North, south, east, west- didn't you always end up at the same place in the end? The Earth, after all, was a globe and that meant- He turned back. Cargill, apparently involved in a fierce dispute, was waving his arms angrily as he talked. The plane dipped and swayed as his attention wavered. The whole situation was very strange. Here Alec was-up above the clouds-going he didn't know where-and the funny thing was he couldn't ever recall agreeing to come.

He remembered the drive-in an old diesel car-to the air terminal in Berkeley. He remembered Cargill leading him toward the plane. He recollected an angry debate before they had been granted permission to take-off. All of that was clear; what wasn't clear was why.

Alec heard a click. Cargill had replaced the phone and was now chuckling softly to himself.

"Now what?" Alec asked, remembering to shout.

But Cargill, when he replied, spoke in a normal conversational tone. It irritated Alec to find he could easily hear every word quite clearly: "A fool. Wanted me to land. Because of the war, they seem to feel they now own the air itself. Fortunately, as was the case in Berkeley, my credentials managed to convince them of my legitimacy."

"In other words, you lied to them."

"Hardly. I merely insisted my business was urgent. Which it certainly is. I merely hope the various bodies we have left scattered around remain undiscovered until we have landed. I would hate to be shot out of the sky."

"Then you better get a parachute," Alec advised. "They're sure to find Sylvia." He explained about the android project and his deadline.

Cargill chuckled again. "Oh, that's no problem. Before speeding to your home, I contacted your general-an acquaintance of mine, incidentally-and informed him you were a traitor."

"That was nice of you."

"I suggested he send a squad of investigators to a certain place in Oregon. I told him that was your suspected hideout. Fortunately, I have visited the area in the past and can vouch for the presence of a cabin there. A refuge, in fact, from certain cares of the world." He smiled in recollection.

"And he believed that story?"

"Of course. Don't you?"

"No, I don't."

"Well, frankly, my integrity has never been questioned before."

"No, but---"

"And I do not care to have it questioned now." Cargill suddenly found something of extreme interest down among the clouds. He leaned over in his seat, staring out his window. Alec looked out too, but could see nothing beyond the unbroken layer of white clouds. As usual, Cargill's thoughts were under stern control and nothing peeped out.

When Alec turned back, Cargill was regarding him with an amused grin.

"About Anna..." Alec began.

"Fifteen minutes," Cargill said. He glanced down at the controls. "Twenty at the most."

"I didn't ask-"

"Ah Tran is particularly eager to meet you."

"Who? That crackpot? Look here, is this-"

"Of course it isn't."

"Well---"

"Look," Cargill said, waving at the interior of the plane. "Perhaps I'm wrong. But you are here, aren't you?"

"Not by choice."

"Oh, I see. You're accusing me of kidnapping."

"No, of course not. But you did-"

"Coercion? What kind? Physical? Mental? Spiritual?"

"No, none of that. But I-"

"Then I really don't think-" Cargill assumed a pained, hurt expression "-you ought to imply otherwise."

"But I didn't."

"First," Cargill went on, "you demand to know the truth. Then you tell me to shut up. Well, you can't have it both ways, Alec. Which is it?"

"I didn't say that."

"Then I suggest you listen." But instead of going on, Cargill turned and faced the window and looked out, humming softly to himself.

Infuriated, Alec decided simply to sit and wait. When Cargill wanted to talk, he would. Until then, patience would have to serve. Cargill could deliver him over to Ah Tran or any other messiah of his choice but that didn't mean he would cooperate. And he didn't intend to. He knew his own version of the truth, and that would have to serve him for now.

"I think we can beat them," Cargill said.

"What?"

Cargill shrugged and recommenced his melodic humming. Again, Alec restrained himself and was patient.