Nerve Center

She took the bottle and hugged him. He was actually shaking a little from nervousness.

A good sign, she thought.

“Have you met Abby?” she said, putting the wine down on the counter and ushering him back into the living room.

“We just said hello,” said Madrone.

“Abby used to work for CNN, didn’t you?” she prompted, gently easing Kevin toward the couch.

Jeff frowned at her from his wheelchair. She smiled into his stare as Abby explained that she had worked for CNN Headline News Radio, and that she hadn’t been anyone important, had actually been little more than an intern.

“But I’ll bet it was exciting,” suggested Bree.

“Sometimes,” said Abby.

Brea

“You just returned from a trip to Europe, didn’t you, Kevin?” Bree prompted.

“Uh, couple of months ago. Business thing with, uh, NATO.”

“NATO,” said Bree, underlining its importance. “Get any sightseeing in?”

“Not really.”

“Oh, come on, Key. What about that laser-sighting system the Germans were trying to sell,” said Jeff.

And the worst thing was, Brea

“Honey, why don’t you open that excellent bottle of wine Kevin just brought,” Brea

“Good idea,” he said, wheeling to the kitchen.

“You’ve been to Europe too, haven’t you, Abby?”

“Rome,” she said. “But it was years ago.”

“Rome’s a beautiful city,” suggested Brea

She glanced at Kevin. One of her timers buzzed and she quickly excused herself, having left him the perfect opening.

“Hey, your nail hurt,” said Zen as she walked in. “You going to bite me next?”

“I may if you don’t keep your voice down,” Brea

“Oh, a regular Bo

“Sshhh.”

The tuna was perfect—she flipped the steaks over for a quick sear to finish them, then pulled the rice and the carrots from the stove, placing them in serving dishes.

“This is the good china,” said Jeff.

“Well, you didn’t think I’d use paper plates, did you? Get out there with that wine. No, wait—bring the sake too. We’ll have a toast.”

“Sake? A toast?”

“Every di

“You trying to get them drunk?”

“If it’ll help, yes.”

Zen left shaking his head, but he did take the sake. Unfortunately, he was the only one drinking it when she came out with di

“You sure this fish is cooked?” Jeff asked. “Looks raw.”

“You’ll have to excuse him,” Bree told the others. “Jeff is a great pilot, but he doesn’t know food. His idea of a meal comes in a box with a toy.”

“I know raw, Bree.”

“Actually, marriage is a wonderful thing,” said Brea

Even as a joke, it was a tactical mistake, quickly thickening the silence. Jeff had mentioned that Kevin had been married briefly before, though he was vague on the details. She took a heavy slug of the wine Zen had poured. It was acceptable, even if it was about two days old and clashed with the ginger and scallions.

AS HE FINISHED DESSERT, MADRONE’S HEAD STARTED to float. It wasn’t the wine; he’d had only had a few sips. It was the food—he’d never had tuna like that before. And a chiffon chocolate soufflé for dessert. The Army captain wasn’t exactly sure what that was, just that it was really, really good. Good-looking, a great cook, smart, fu

It was impossible to feel jealous of him. But seeing how perfect Brea

It hurt because he’d had that himself.

Or thought he had.

But that was another lifetime now. Two lifetimes.

Abby wasn’t beautiful, but she wasn’t a dog either. She started talking about a movie she’d seen, a comedy—it seemed interesting, but Kevin couldn’t think of any way to get into the conversation.

IT WAS NICE TO SEE BREE GO DOWN IN FLAMES EVERY so often. Zen sipped his beer, observing Kevin and Abby on the couch. It was obvious they weren’t hitting it off. Abby talked about movies she’d seen and some plays she’d gone to when she was in London a year ago. Kevin had a dumb smile on his face, the kind you wore when you wanted to be anywhere but here.

Brea

Zen emptied the bottle and wheeled his chair around to the kitchen for another. Maneuvering through the tight hallway had come to seem almost natural, the movements so familiar that not even the effect of sake and a few beers slowed him down. He’d come a long way in the year and a half since the accident—and in just the last five months since returning to Dreamland.

Lying in the hospital, he didn’t think he’d ever make it. He certainly didn’t think he’d be here, back in his apartment, back with Bree. He hadn’t thought it would be fair to her, living with a cripple.

He wasn’t a cripple. Oh. he definitely was a cripple, but not a cripple. There was a difference. He’d come to realize that.

Thanks to Bree mostly. She didn’t make it okay that he couldn’t walk—but having her made a huge, huge difference.

Jeff opened the refrigerator and took out a Sierra Nevada. Bree, yes. The right woman made all the difference.

There was no reason Kevin and Abby shouldn’t get along. Kevin was a bit shy and, admittedly, geeky, but Abby was shy too. Hell, they had plenty in common—starting with Bree and Jeff. It was just a question of getting down to it.

Zen popped the cap on the bottle and wheeled back into the living room, where a treacherous silence had descended. “Hey,” he said, “let’s talk baseball.”

“Baseball?” said Bree. She gave him a look that, roughly translated, meant she would kill him when they were alone—if she could wait that long.

“Yeah,” said Jeff, wheeling next to Abby. “Your father used to know Mickey Mantle, right, Ab?”

“Oh, sure,” said Abby. “He worked for him. It’s because of my dad that I’m a Yankees fan.”

“Really?” said Kevin. He pushed forward on the couch. “So am I.”

Dreamland

9 January, 2104

COLONEL BASTIAN WAS ABOUT THREE STEPS FROM THE door to the hangar when someone screamed a command behind him.

“On the ground, scumbag. Hands out! Now! Fucking now!”

Before Dog even realized the command was meant for him, the business end of an M-16-3A1 poked sharply into his neck. “Down, fuckhead!”

“Son,” Bastian said calmly, “I appreciate the fact that it’s late and it’s dark and you’re doing your job. But that’s Colonel Fuckhead to you.”

“Yeah, right.” The man grabbed Bastian by the arm and swirled him around. Someone behind the man turned on a flashlight, shining it in Bastian’s eyes.

“Shit,” said the sergeant who had accosted Bastian.

“Fuck. Ten-shun,” snapped the flashlight bearer.

“Very fu

“Urn, no offense, sir,” said the first man. He was Sergeant Perse Talcom, one of Da

“We, uh, we didn’t know you were, uh, en route,” said the other man, Sergeant Lee Liu, another Whiplasher.

“We just, you know. Shit, sir. No one’s supposed to be out here after nineteen hundred hours. I mean, the geekers and all, the eggheads, but they usually call or get an escort. You didn’t look like one of them.”