Part 17 (1/2)
Thomas knew Matheson wanted to make sure he reached his car. ”That won't be necessary. Just send it
to my mesh account. I'll look it over tonight.” He s.h.i.+fted his weight on his crutches and headed for the door.
Matheson walked at his side. ”Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?”
”Thanks, C.J. But I'll be fine.”
”Yes, sir.” Matheson didn't look one iota less worried.
To reach his car, Thomas only had to go through Building Seven, through security, and into the parking
lot. It wasn't far, and his chest stopped hurting soon after he took his medicine. But the walk seemed endless. He felt nauseated and wanted to sit down. In years past, he would have bounced back from this
injury and carried on. It used to be, he resisted going home even when exhaustion mandated otherwise, but now he didn't even want to stay at the base. He hated this weakness. Most of his life he had enjoyed good health, eating as he pleased, handling any load, year after year. Until it caught up with him. Since his operation, he had chafed at the restrictions, the forbidden foods, and his new routine, but if he had to slow down to stay alive, he would live with the changes.
His two bodyguards were waiting by the security trailer, beefy sec-techs in police uniforms. They walked him to his car. One opened the back door for him while the other stowed his crutches in the trunk. After they made sure he was comfortably settled in the back, they both got into the front. He had intended to prepare for his meetings tomorrow, but once the car started, he didn't have the energy.
Instead he laid his head back and closed his eyes.
The drive home usually took forty-five minutes, more during rush hour, when traffic was so heavy it slowed down despite the traffic grid control. Yet today it seemed only minutes before they were pulling into his driveway. Although Thomas knew he must have slept, he felt no more rested than before. One guard helped him out of the car and the other handed him his crutches, but when they tried to help him to his front door, Thomas shook his head. d.a.m.ned if he would let them treat him like a doddering old man.
One of his guards did a sweep of the house while the other stayed outside with Thomas. When the fellow inside gave the okay, they let Thomas enter. Although they came inside, too, they were so discreet he barely noticed them. But he knew they were there. As much as he appreciated their protection, he would be glad when this business was finished and he could have his privacy back.
Up in his bedroom, he changed into pajamas, hung his uniform in the closet, and laid his glove on the nightstand. Then he gratefully sank into bed. A palpable relief settled over him, and for a while he just lay, drowsing. Finally he stirred enough to roll on his glove and call his physician and longtime friend, Daniel Enberg.
Daniel answered himself, rather than his secretary or an AI. ”Thomas, h.e.l.lo. How are you managing?”
”All right. Just a little tired.” Thomas forced himself to break his lifelong habit of denying problems. ”I had some chest pains earlier this afternoon.” He described what had happened.
Daniel spoke crisply. ”Come into the hospital.”
”I'm in bed. I'm not having a heart attack. The angina went away after I took my pills.”
”You do need to rest,” Daniel agreed.
”So I'll stay here.”
”I'll come out there.”
Thomas blinked. ”What?”
”I'm coming to your house.”
”You never make house calls.”
Daniel laughed good-naturedly. ”Most of my patients aren't so all-fired stubborn as you. I have to go out
that way later anyway. Tell those hulking monstrosities guarding you to let me in.”
”Thanks. But how do you know who's guarding me?”
”If it's the same fellows who were at Bethesda, I know, believe me. They wouldn't let me near you until
they did a full search. They practically turned me inside out.”
Thomas winced. ”Sorry.”
”No problem. I'll see you in about an hour. Don't go anywhere.”
He laughed tiredly. ”I'm not.”
Thomas notified his bodyguards about Daniel's visit by calling their gloves with his. Then he fell into a
fitful doze. He kept waking up, though, while his mind replayed his memories of Charon and Alpha.
Back then, when Alpha couldn't infiltrate the safe house to grab Pascal, she had taken Thomas and Sam instead. Pascal had given himself up in exchange for them-but it had been a setup by the Air Force. In the end, Pascal had taken on Charon, two androids battling at a level humans couldn't match, until Pascal had killed Charon.
It all bounced around in Thomas's thoughts, overshadowed by the riddle: if Alpha hadn't been able to get into the safe house to take Pascal, how had she escaped? The creak of the door drew him awake. He peered through the shadows. ”Daniel?” The doctor walked into the room. He had his jacket on with the hood pulled up. ”Is it raining?” Thomas asked. He pulled down his hood-and raised a gun. ”Ah, h.e.l.l,” Thomas said. ”h.e.l.lo,” Alpha said.
VII: The Bungalow
Thomas kept his hands on the steering wheel as they sped through the night. The car, however, was driving itself. Alpha had control of its mesh through a link from her internal system. She sat in the pa.s.senger's seat with her gun trained on him, a darter this time, which shot a fast-acting sedative that could knock him out in seconds. Her black clothes blended with the darkness. She had left her stolen coat behind, and Thomas's fear for his friend tore at him.