AI - Alpha Part 47

"control and abduct" the Alley. Trust had to work both ways. "If Bart was in Alpha's mesh, he must have known what she would do to me."

"He had only limited access. She isolated him in her matrix."

"So that's why she says the Alley won't help her."

"I imagine so."

"Is she right?"

Hughes met his gaze. "Yes."

Thomas felt that strange sense of dislocation that came when he spoke of Alpha, as if she were a part of his life confined to a box, desired and forbidden, edged in gold and danger. It would have been ironic if he had asked the Alley to help her and it turned out they sought to further Charon's purposes. They claimed otherwise, and Hughes had warned him about a major security break at the NIA. That counted for nothing, however, if Thomas never made it back to tell anyone.

His unease grew. "I should get home."

"All right."

As they were walking toward the parking lot, however, Hughes said, "I have one other thing to discuss."

Thomas tensed again, still holding his hidden gun. "What?"

Hughes let out a slow breath. Once Thomas would have a.s.sumed that meant he was human, since

androids didn't need to breathe. He was no longer certain. People communicated with many types of nonverbal cues. Androids designed to seem human might as well.

Hughes spoke quietly. "Our intervention with Alpha nearly caused your death."

Thomas wished he could wipe his sweating palms on his jacket. It would reveal his fear, though. "And?"

"Sunrise Alley has a debt to you."

Thomas thought of Alpha's dark promises of wealth. "I don't want your blood money."

"Not money. An exchange. A new lease offered for an old one."

What the blazes? "You want to rent me a house?"

"A life."

"I already have one." He intended to keep it.

"We can give you more."

Suddenly Thomas understood. It was the same offer Alpha had made. "I'd rather be human. Not a

forma." But even as he spoke, he hesitated. How would he feel in ten years? Twenty? When old age left him stooped and wrinkled, when it took his acuity and strength-if he survived that long?

Hughes was watching his face. "Think about it. Take as long as you need. Weeks or years. Decades."

Thomas still didn't trust him. "I don't take bribes."

"Nothing is expected in return."

"You say that now."

"Once you have a biomechanical body and matrix, we cannot take them back," Hughes said. "We would have nothing to bargain with."

"I don't know if I trust your motives.""Find out yourself." They were crossing the parking lot. "Become part of us."Join the Alley? He didn't know whether to be tempted or put off. The idea tantalized. He wanted to ask if he would have the choice no matter how long he waited, but he couldn't say the words. It wasn't only the problem of trust. He had yet to reconcile the concept of becoming a forma with his sense of himself as human, with his religion, or with his family. He might never find that accommodation. Some people knew exactly how they felt: they either embraced the new technologies or turned away without doubt.

For Thomas, it wasn't clear. Perhaps he was too set in his ways. He didn't know. But he wasn't ready to make that leap.

"I will think on it," he said. "But thank you."

Hughes inclined his head. "You are welcome."

They had reached the road that circled the park. Hughes left then, headed in the opposite direction

Thomas would go to reach his car. The man's lean figure faded into the night until nothing remained except the legends of his existence.

XVII: The Missed Exit

At 3:55 in the morning, few cars were out on Kennilworth Avenue in Greenbelt, Maryland. It was one of the only times the county could do substantial road work without causing a traffic jam. The area was all roads and overpa.s.ses, a multilane highway surrounded by other highways, with little beyond them but an industrial park. Bathed in the harsh light of a few lamps, a crew in down jackets and hard hats were working on the on-ramp to Interstate 95, which would take Thomas to the Beltway and his home just north of Washington, D.C.

"d.a.m.n," Thomas muttered. He wanted to get home and sleep. His exhaustion had caught up with him. If

the ramp was closed, it would take that much longer to find an alternate route.

Hernandez slowed down, making it clear he wanted to use the ramp, and a husky man on the crew glanced up. As Hernandez let the car settle on the pavement, the fellow headed over to them. Spaulding reached un.o.btrusively into his jacket to his shoulder holster, and Thomas took hold of his magnum. The other three men on the crew glanced up, their faces shadowed under their hard hats.

The husky man knocked on the driver's window. Then he waited, rubbing his eyes as if he weren't sure he had woken up. Hernandez lowered the window, then rested his hand on a lever below eyesight that could bring armored plates slamming down. If the man reached into the car, the plates would chop off his arm. Thomas felt a little foolish with all the precautions, but better to feel silly than take chances. At the same time, they didn't want to cause any civilian injuries or deaths.

The man bent to the window. "There's an exit back toward NASA," he said. "Take a left on Greenbelt

and you'll see it pretty quick."

Hernandez nodded with the impa.s.sive expression he wore for everyone except Jamie. "Thanks." Even his casual response sounded military.

Spaulding suddenly said, "Comm is out!" He hit a lever, and the transparent polycarbonate armor snapped down, a grade of bulletproof "gla.s.s" that could withstand even grenade explosions. As Hernandez revved up the turbo fans and lifted the car into the air, the man in the hard hat stumbled back.

Thomas's safety harness snapped around him, tight against his flex-suit. He didn't know why they had gone into defensive mode, but if someone had isolated them from outside communication, they were in trouble, and not only from the implied threat. It took a high level of interference to cut them off.

Hernandez swung around in an arc tighter than most cars could manage, until they were pointed southward-in time to see another car humming up the highway toward them, dark and sleek, an armored Hover-Shadow 16. Thomas knew the type; this car he rode in, for all that it appeared mundane, had a similar design. It was faster than the Hover-Shadow, which was why the Air Force called it a Cheetah.

Hernandez swore and kept steering the Cheetah around until they faced north again. A second Hover- Shadow was coming from that direction, and beyond it, on the otherwise empty highway, a third was on the approach.

"h.e.l.l," Thomas said and pulled out his magnum.

Hernandez continued swerving in a circle, so tight it pushed Thomas against the armored door.

Spaulding had all three Shadows on his mesh screen. It didn't look as if anyone was driving them; they

were robot cars controlled by AI brains.

In the few seconds it took Hernandez to get the Cheetah facing south again, the first Hover-Shadow had almost reached them. Spaulding was speaking to the Cheetah's AI: "Fire guns A-three and A-four."

Machine gun fire burst from forward ports on the Cheetah. The approaching car swerved and skidded on

the road. As it careened past Thomas's car, it fired a stinger, one of the two miniature rockets carried by a Shadow. The Cheetah immediately released chaff and flares, but it was already too late-the stinger detonated under them.

The explosion threw the Cheetah sideways. Thomas groaned when his head hit the window. The blast didn't destroy the car's armor, but they skipped along the road like a rock skimming a lake, except unlike water, the asphalt was sc.r.a.ping the blazes out of the car. Its underside was reinforced, as was the Kevlar skirt along its lower edge that held the cushion of air, but they couldn't withstand a beating this rough without damage. It all happened too fast; Thomas's mind couldn't absorb the full import. After everything he had survived, he couldn't believe he would die here.

The men in the supposed work crew were running toward the Cheetah in military-like formation.

Hernandez managed to get the Cheetah into the air, its engines groaning with the strain of moving too much weight too fast. The first Shadow, the one Spaulding had fired at, swung into their path, and the Cheetah barreled into it with a screech of armored composites smashing together. It threw Thomas forward, and his body yanked his harness. He prayed the tight band of pressure on his chest came only from his flex-suit.

Both the Cheetah and the Shadow slammed down on the asphalt. Hernandez shoved his foot on the pedal, and for a moment the Cheetah surged drunkenly back into the air. Then it dropped again. A grind came from under its body as Hernandez tried to unfold the wheels, and the car tilted crazily to one side.

Thomas hung on to the door, his pulse thrumming too fast.

The other two Shadows from the north were almost on them. They pounded the Cheetah with gunfire, and Spaulding returned it, the AI implementing his instructions faster than he could have himself. None of the shots penetrated the armor of the cars, neither for the Cheetah nor the Shadows. The men in hard hats stayed clear, crouched behind concrete dividers, which probably had far more reinforcement than they would have ever needed if they had only been for construction. No other vehicles appeared, which was strange even this early in the morning. The crew must have blocked off the area, maybe even accessed the county grids that controlled traffic and cameras. Even if someone reported the tumult, it would take time for the police to arrive, especially if they had to get past a roadblock-and far too much could happen in a few minutes.

Spaulding spoke urgently to the AI. "Fire rockets."

Two flares of light burst from the Cheetah and hurtled toward the Shadows north of them. The first hit the hood of the leading car and exploded with a m.u.f.fled boom. That Shadow careened into the path of the second rocket, which also exploded on the hood and finally penetrated the weakened armor. The car's fuel tanks detonated with a plume of fatally beautiful orange flame shot through with the silver of

liquefied metal. The damaged Shadow spun in a whirl of ragged parts and crashed into the third Shadow, which had veered to avoid the wreckage.

The rattling of gunfire suddenly became louder and more violent. In the same instant that Spaulding

shouted, "Breach!" something hard slammed the seat next to Thomas. Blasted, burnt leather flew through the car, and he threw himself to the side, against the door. His chest felt as if it would burst.

Debris pummeled him, ripped his clothes, and could have torn him apart if he hadn't been wearing flex- armor. He instinctively raised his arms to cover his head, as if that useless gesture could protect him against projectile bullets.