Locusta nodded, then got into the car.

Allegro, Nevada

0908.

BREANNA PRACTICALLY LEAPED TO THE PHONE.

"h.e.l.lo, h.e.l.lo," she said.

"h.e.l.lo, h.e.l.lo yourself," said Zen.

His voice sounded tired and distant, but it was good to hear it anyway.

"Lover, how are you?" she asked.

"Missing you."

"Mmmm. And I miss you." She fell into the chair, closed her eyes and listened as her husband told her about his first day in Romania.

"We're sleeping in a hangar, dormitory-style," said Zen. "Sully has the bunk next to me. And he snores."

"Wish I could tuck you in."

"Me too. The mayor came around a little while ago. He offered us a hotel, but Danny vetoed it. Security. He's like a Mother Hen."

"Danny's only watching out for you."

"He's just being paranoid. The people have been pretty good. The commanding general is a hard case, but your father handled him perfectly. Aside from that, Romania is beautiful. It's real peaceful. Mountains nearby, a lot of farms."

"You sound like a travelogue."

"Beats the h.e.l.l out of where we've been lately."

"Thank G.o.d for that."

Zen admitted that he might change his opinion as time went on, though only because she wasn't there. He wouldn't say anything directly about the mission because they were on an open line, but when he mentioned off-handedly that he'd be flying in the morning, she felt her heart jump a little.

"So what did you do today?" he asked finally.

"Zen, it's barely past nine here. There's a what, ten hour time difference?"

"Yeah. It's 1912 here. But let me just guess," he added. "You've done your workout, vacuumed, straightened out the kitchen, and had about four cups of coffee."

"Five. I also did the laundry."

Zen laughed. "How's your knee?"

"Pretty solid. I'm up to the third bar of resistance on the machine."

"I'm glad the doctor told you to take it easy."

"I don't remember her saying that."

"You liar."

"No, really. And I am taking it easy. I am."

"You are taking it easy for you," he conceded.

"I wish I were with you."

"You can't be on every deployment."

"And you can?"

"Don't get mad."

"I'm not-well, maybe a little."

Neither one of them spoke. She knew Zen was right-she wasn't taking it easy, and she wasn't going to take it easy. It wasn't in her nature. But it wasn't in his, either.

"Hey, I love you, you know," he said finally. "A lot."

"And I love you too, baby."

"Maybe when this whole thing is done, we'll take a real vacation."

"OK."

"Maybe here," he said, laughing. "Place does look beautiful, at least from the air."

Dreamland

1006.

BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR...

Mack Smith had heard his mother say that a million times growing up. And d.a.m.ned if it wasn't one of the few things she'd said that turned out to be true.

Working as General Terrill Samson's chief of staff meant working...and working...and working, 24/7. Samson believed in delegating-and with much of his staff and subordinate officers still en route to Dreamland from previous posts, he was the delegate de jour.

There was another saying his mother had used all the time: Stuff rolls downhill.

Except she didn't say "stuff."

Mack was contemplating just how far downhill he was when his office phone rang. The light signaled that the call was an internal one-from the general's office.

"General wants to talk to you," said Chartelle Bedell, the general's civilian secretary.

The first time Chartelle had said that to him, Mack called him back on the intercom. It was a mistake he wouldn't make again.

"I'll be in before you can put down the phone," he told her, jumping up from his desk and double-timing his way down the hall.

Chartelle gave him a big smile as he walked in. Mack smiled back. She wasn't much to look at, but she had been with the general for several years and knew how to read his moods. Mack knew it was essential to have a good spy in the bullpen-the office outside the general's-and while he hadn't completely won her over yet, he figured he would soon.

"There you are, Smith," said Samson after he knocked and was buzzed inside. "Every day down here it's something else."

"Yes, sir. That's the way it is here," replied Mack.

"Not under my command, it's not."

"No sir, of course. You're really on your way to turning it around."

Samson frowned. Mack felt his stomach go a little sour. The vaunted Mack Smith charm never seemed to work with the old man.

"The B-1 laser program," said the general, as if the mere mention explained what he had on his mind.

"Yes, sir. Good plane."

"It has its plusses and minuses, Smith," said Samson. "You were a fighter jock. I flew them. Don't forget."

"Yes, sir," said Mack. The general's use of the past tense when referring to his profession irked him, but it wasn't the sort of thing he could mention.

"What the h.e.l.l happened to the test schedule of these planes?" demanded Samson. "They're two months behind. Two months."

Two months wasn't much in the scheme of things, especially on a complicated project like the laser B-1. And in fact, depending on how you looked at the program, it was actually ahead of schedule; most of the delays had to do with the ground-attack module, which was being improved from a baseline simply because the engineers had realized late in the day that they could do so without adding additional cost. The rest of the delay was mainly due to the shortage of pilots-the plane had to be flown for a certain number of hours before its different systems were officially certified.

Mack tried explaining all of this, but Samson was hardly in a receptive mood.

"The laser is the problem, isn't it, Mack?"

"The laser segment is ahead of schedule, sir. As I was saying, the plane is actually ready-"

"Because if it is, we should just shelve it. Some of this new age c.r.a.p-it just adds unnecessary complication. If the force is going to be lean and mean, we need weapons that are lean and mean. Low maintenance. Sometimes cutting edge toys are just that-toys."

"Well yes sir, but I think you'll find that the laser segment is, um, moving along nicely."

"Then what the h.e.l.l is the holdup?"

"There's a problem with pilots," he said. "A shortage."

"Fix it, Mack."

Finding qualified pilots-and they had to be military pilots, preferably Air Force, with the requisite security clearances, to say nothing of their abilities-wasn't exactly easy. But he knew of one pilot, albeit a fighter jock, who was available.

Himself.

"You know, I wouldn't mind taking the stick now and again myself," said Mack. "In the interim. This way-"

"Major, if my chief of staff has enough time to get into the seat of a test aircraft, then I'm not giving him enough work to do."

"Yes, sir, that's what I was thinking."

Mack was back in his office a half hour later when he was surprised by a knock on the door.

"It's open."

"Hey Mack, how goes things for the new chief of staff?" said Breanna. She entered with a noticeable limp, but that was a vast improvement over the wheelchair he'd seen her in the other day.

"Bree! How are you?" He got up, intending to give her a light peck on the cheek in greeting. Then he remembered General Samson's order against "unmilitary shows of affection" and stopped cold. Thrusting his hand out awkwardly, he asked how she was.

"I feel great," said Breanna. "Mind if I sit down?"

"Sure. Sit. Sit."

Mack had once had the hots for Breanna, but that was long over. She was a bit too bossy and conceited for his taste, so he'd pa.s.sed her along to Zen.

Her body made it easy to overlook those shortcomings, however. Her face-it was like looking at a model.

"How do you like being chief of staff?" Breanna asked.

"It's great. I have my thumb on the pulse of the base," he said. "I've solved several problems already. We're turning this place around, the general and I."

A frown flickered across Breanna's face. "I heard that you need more test pilots on the B-1 laser program," she said.

"Uh, yeah."

"I'm here to volunteer."

"Uh-"

"You need pilots. I've flown Boomer a couple of times."