AI - Alpha Part 23

"It looks like an F-42," he said.

"Maybe it is. I never asked."

Although it was unlikely Charon had obtained plans for an F-42, he might have managed an older jet,

the F-15 or F-16. He would have had to steal them, either from contractors in the U.S. or from American allies who had purchased the jets. It suggested Charon's underworld operations went even further than the Pentagon thought, but it wasn't a stretch, unfortunately. Charon had extended his tendrils into a vast and sobering array of enterprises throughout the world.

Thomas had a more immediate problem, however. He knocked his fist against the plastiflex that covered his right leg. "If your jet is like an F-42, I won't fit into its seat with this cast."

Alpha peered at his cast. "We'll have to remove it."

Thomas scowled at her. "My d.a.m.n leg is broken."

"It's been two days." She gave that maddening shrug of hers. "And you have nanos speeding up the repair, right?"

He doubted she truly understood just how different humans were from androids. "Even the best nanos can't heal a bone in two days."

"Then just take off the upper part, so you can bend your leg."

Thomas knew what Daniel would say; if he removed even part of the cast too soon, the bone wouldn't heal properly. All this stumbling around couldn't be helping, either. If he refused, though, Alpha could

knock him out with the darter and remove the cast. She was strong enough to haul him into the fighter.

That was no good. He wanted to be conscious when they took this beauty into the skies.

"I'll see what I can do." Thomas eased down to the ground, using his cane for support, and pulled his torn jeans away from the cast. He tried ripping the plastiflex, then breaking it. When that didn't work, he picked up a rock and banged it against the cast. It hurt like the blazes and didn't even crack the blasted stuff.

"It shouldn't be that hard," Alpha muttered. She set down her EL-38 and stalked over to him. He instinctively clenched his rock as a weapon. As she knelt on his right side, too close, and squinted at his leg, he tensed, ready to defend himself, aware of her contained power. Her holster with the darter was only inches from his elbow.

She glanced sideways at him. "That silly gun won't affect me. Besides, I could easily get it back before you fired."

He didn't have an answer, so he said nothing.

Alpha grabbed the top of his cast and bent it back, cracking the plastiflex. She worked the break down to below his knee and then ripped it around his leg. Sliding her hand under his thigh, she lifted his leg so she could snap off the piece. She set down his limb with unexpected gentleness, leaving his lower leg sheathed in plastiflex. Then she just knelt there, her palm resting on his bared thigh, staring at his leg rather than his face. She was so close, he could see the unnatural perfection of her skin, no blemishes, no scars, nothing. Too perfect to be human.

Thomas said, "Alpha."She raised her gaze. "You don't look like Charon that much."He felt as if he were in some surreal play where, if he said the wrong lines, the other actor would end his life. "I never claimed I did."

"The first time I saw you, I thought you were built like him. But it's not true. Your legs are longer. And you're less bulky." She slid her hand slowly down his thigh to his knee. "You keep in good shape."

He stared at her hand. "For an old man."

She stroked her thumb across his knee. "That's your charm; you have no clue how good you look. Seems

unusual in a pilot." Her voice was low and husky.

Under different circ.u.mstances he would have laughed. "Well, you know us pilots. Bunch of egomaniacs." He didn't much feel like joking, though. And she was still touching his leg.

"Alpha," he said. "What are you doing?"

She jerked her hand away. "Nothing." She stood up and backed away until she reached the EL-38.

Without taking her gaze off him, she crouched down, picked up the gun, and stood with a fluidity that

spoke of Charon's genius far more eloquently than any of his vast and convoluted holdings.

Thomas wasn't sure what had just happened. He didn't know whether to be intrigued or terrified. Using his broom for support, he struggled to his feet. It was easier to maneuver with part of the cast missing, but his leg ached with a bone-deep pain.

Alpha motioned at the jet. "Come see?"

Although he didn't see how he would climb inside, nothing could stop him from trying. He limped across the clearing and tried to ignore the twinges in his newly exposed knee. When he reached the jet, an unexpected rush came to him, what he had often felt in his youth when he stood by his Falcon or

Raptor.

"You're exquisite," he murmured.

"I take it you're not talking to me," Alpha said. Her voice lightened, almost as if she were teasing.

Thomas turned to see her several yards behind him. Before he could think and stop himself, he said,

"You are, too. Just as magnificent and just as deadly."

As soon as it came out, he wanted to kick himself. Stupid, stupid. He didn't know which bothered him more, that he said it or that he felt so self-conscious. He had always expressed his love of jets more easily than his love of his wife, though the latter was the greater pa.s.sion in his life. But machines couldn't reject your emotions. He was responding to Alpha as if she were a person, a woman who

attracted him, not only physically, but in her intellect and personality. He had to get a grip. Even if she had been human, his response would have been way out of whack in this situation.

It was only a moment before Alpha responded, but it felt like an eternity. "Can you get in?"

Relieved she hadn't responded to his ill-conceived remark, he considered the c.o.c.kpit and swept-back

wings. "If you have something I can climb on."

Slinging the machine gun over her shoulder, she came over to him. "I'll call the ladder."

He looked at the EL-38. So close. "Aren't you worried I'll get your gun?"

"No."

"Why are you hauling around that thing, anyway? You think you need to splatter me apart with a

machine gun?"

"It's not for you." She s.h.i.+fted her weight. "I don't know what reception we'll get where we're going."

Great. Just great. "Who's running things if Charon is gone?"

"I don't know." She pulled off her handheld and pressed its panels in a rapid pattern. "The base doesn't

have much human staff, mostly just guards and robots."

Thomas had no idea if that would work in his favor or make it harder to escape. He looked up at the jet.

"What do you call this aircraft?"

She glanced up at it. "The Q-3."

He grinned. "Well, h.e.l.l, the deadly Q-3. That's intimidating."

"Charon called it the Banshee. Do you know the legend?" Her eyes smoldered. "If you hear it scream,

you're dead."

"Ah."

A ladder-bot was rolling out of the hangar. It stopped next to Alpha, and she pushed it to Thomas. "No

matter what we call it, we have to get in."

He couldn't, yet. "You haven't ensured it's flight ready."

"Yes, I have."

"I didn't see you do anything."

She actually smiled. "You'd be amazed at what I can do with my internal sensors."

Although he knew it was possible, it went against the grain for him to board an aircraft when no one

appeared to have done any external checks. "You realize we have none of the proper gear." He didn't even have a d.a.m.n helmet.

"You'll survive."

Thomas had his doubts. "You ever fly this before?"

"No."

He cursed under his breath. "We're both going to die."

"I've done simulations." She tapped the ladder. "Let's go."

"Oh, what the h.e.l.l. I'll die happy."

He climbed the bot and pulled himself into the jet's backseat. He managed to cram his legs into the s.p.a.ce