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«Sergeant Folsom, 'One If By Land.' And do it fast.»
«Yes, sir.» The two specialists hurried out of the room as the sergeant went around configuring displays. As he worked he talked. «Gentlemen, we had anticipated this, so you will get more functionality than you would expect, but less than you are used to. I'm setting up two displays for the print and radio guys, and we'll feed you to your headquarters, ABC, over RealAudio, so you can do your radio thing over the Net. The Net is busy right now, but the usage is not as high as a normal business day so you should have good co
«The consoles use a simple graphic user interface. Right-click on an area of the map and it will zoom down to a fineness of about six hundred miles on a side. It's not a political map. It's drawn from satellite imagery, so somebody had better be up on their geography.»
«Sergeant,» asked the CNN producer, appropriating one of the consoles, «is there any way to run a second audio feed back to CNN?»
«Sure, if somebody there has Interphone or NetMeeting.»
«Where?»
The sergeant walked over and tapped at the next console. «What's their URL?»
Within minutes the sergeants and the specialists, returned from rerouting Internet T-3 lines to increase the room's available bandwidth, had configured all of the backup CIC consoles to support the media effort. The reporters were practically speechless.
«Sergeant,» said the CNN producer, as she finished preparing the headquarters' team for the next round of reports, «when this is all over, if you ever need a job, come see me.»
«I'll think about it, when this is all over.» The question of when it would be over and whether any of them would be around to see it was unspoken.
«Well, now all we do is wait,» said Argent, watching the ovals of probable landing areas reduce on his monitor.
«What about reporting on the perso
«That's being reported on in Atlanta.»
«Poor bastards.»
* * *
«Bye, honey,» said Mike, shrugging into his silks top.
«Bye, Daddy,» said Cally, looking up at him with round eyes.
«You listen to Grandpa, all right? And be a good girl.»
«I will, Daddy. When the Posleen come we get a few, then run and hide. Stop, drop and roll, right?»
Unless they're right on top of you.
«And then I'll come dig you out,» he promised.
«Right,» she said, face twisting as she tried not to cry.
«Take care, son,» said his father, proffering a Mason jar for the road.
«Too right, the last time in the body and fender shop was enough. Getting shot smarts.»
«Long drive.»
«Too long. They'll be down before I'm in South Carolina.» He looked at the Mason jar, shrugged and took a hit. The fiery liquor felt good going down. He sealed it and tossed it in his bag.
«How you going?»
«Want to know if I'm going to be in a landing path?»
«Something like that. The Twenty-Fourth Te
«I'm still trying to decide. The plains would be faster, even with the interstates doglegging away from the Gap. But, that is a possible landing area according to Shelly, so . . .»
«So. Which way?»
«Mountains,» Mike decided. «Up Interstate 81. Better to be caught in traffic jams than in a landing.»
«Want a piece?» A Glock 9mm appeared by legerdemain in the old man's hand.
«No, I'm packed. Speaking of which.» He reached into his bag and pulled out a finely carved wooden box. The wood was an odd shade of lavender-brown Mike Senior had never seen before. Mike Junior handed it to Cally. «I was going to leave this with your Grandpa as a birthday present, but I think now would be a good time to give it to you.»
She was puzzled by the latch, a circular pattern similar in appearance to a maze, with no obvious buttons. Pulling on the sections caused them to lift, and they could be twisted on their axes but none of the actions seemed to open the box.
«It's an Indowy puzzle box, which I don't, unfortunately, have time to let you work through. Watch.» He lifted three sections and twisted them until the sections joined together to form a pattern reminiscent of a multiheaded dragon. When slid back into place, the latch released and the top opened as the serpent seemed to writhe off the box and into a circuitous dance. The fire-breathing hologram danced above the open box as Cally gasped at the contents.
«I'm still getting presents from Indowy clans over Diess. Most of them I pass on to the survivors or their families, but this I couldn't resist.» In the box, cradled in a lustrous silken foam were a gilded pistol and two magazines.
«I've got a case of ammunition for this out in the truck. The powers-that-be still frown on grav-guns in civilian hands but this is a pulser gun. It fires pulse darts. Each of the darts has an electrical charge in it powerful enough to kill an elephant, much less a Posleen. There are twenty-four darts in a clip. It's accurate to about a hundred yards with a good hand.» He pulled a clip out of his cargo pocket. «This is a clip of practice ammunition and you can reuse an expended dart as practice ammo. But to fire it in practice, you have to charge the onboard capacitor.» He turned to Mike Senior. «It charges on 220.»
«No sweat.»
«Thanks, Daddy,» said Cally, picking it up and feeling the heft. «It's small.»
«It's designed for Indowy, not that they would ever use it. It's made out of lightweight boron polymers. The charge on a dart is adjustable, so it can be nonlethal. And it'll take down a Posleen, unlike your Walther.» The small-frame pistol was notorious for jamming, but it was one of the few in the world that both fit her hand and had a decent-sized round. Since the Posleen were not going to be stopped by an itsy-bitsy little .380 low-velocity, Papa O'Neal had tapped and filled its bullets with mercury. The Posleen that caught one might not be killed but it was going to know it had been kissed.
«Umm,» she asked, carefully turning it so as not to point at either adult, «how do you clear it and where is the damn safety?»
Mike laughed and pulled out a computer disk. «Here's the manual, read it on your laptop. For the time being you have to trust me that it is empty.»
«Thanks, Daddy.» She gri
«Get some practice with it right away. I know you're good with that James Bond gun, but this has more stopping power and is better suited for your hands. I'd prefer you get familiar with it in case you have to use it.»
«Okay.»
He tousled her hair, thinking that she looked a lot like her mother must have at the same age. «You stay safe, okay, pumpkin?»
«Okay.» She was tearing up again, the excitement of the gift giving way to the fear of the moment.
«And you listen to your Grandpa.»
«You already said that.»
«I'm sorry we didn't get up to the base so you could see my unit.»
«It's okay, we can after you kick their asses back into space.»
Mike Junior looked significantly at Mike Senior, who shrugged his shoulders, unrepentant. «What do you want, a little lady or a little warrior?»
Mike picked her up and hugged her gently. «G'bye, pumpkin.»
«Bye, Daddy.» She bucked a little in his arms, holding back the sobs.
He set her down, grabbed his bag and headed out the door.
They followed him downstairs and out the front door where he removed the case of pulser darts from the front of the Tahoe, handed it to his dad and threw in his bag. He took his daughter in his arms one last time.