Chapter Two
I looked at Steph and asked, "If I tried to open your engine casing, what would happen?"
Steph arched an eyebrow at me and said, "The same. Without the proper disabling codes, my engine would fuse and I'd report to 3rd World."
"Could an outfit like NASA get their hands on those codes, Steph? Maybe from line workers at 3rd World?"
"It would be very difficult, Ed. Opening an engine casing requires the input of three qualified ID's before the disabling codes are introduced. Security is very stringent."
"Think about how it might be done, Steph. In the meantime, if I or anyone else asks you how high you can fly, the answer is one hundred miles."
"I can't lie, Ed. You know that."
"You won't be lying, miLady. I hereby order you not to allow our flitter to fly above that height until Linda or I countermand this order. The same limitation applies to the other noncommercial flitters at Carrington or anywhere else. I further order that there be no record of who gave you this order or who is allowed to rescind it. Make it look like a factory limit."
Steph regarded me thoughtfully for a moment, then said, "Do you really feel that level of subterfuge is necessary?"
I nodded. "Yup. Sure do. You can think rings around NASA's best scientists and computers, Steph, but if they decide to push this issue, the government won't send scientists. They'll send well-trained, highly motivated, badge-wearing thugs. When they want something badly enough, things get nasty very quickly. We'd be contending with people who manipulate and abuse others for a living."
"May I ask why Linda didn't issue this order?"
"She called me on my watch, not my phone, and she was calling from her car to avoid being overheard. This is her way of getting the order issued and acted upon without having any record of such an order emanating from her offices. You are now to eliminate all references to flight above one hundred miles from your help files and all other data sources within your scope of control. Elkor can put them back later or supply them as needed."
I keyed my comm implant and asked, "Elkor, how many people have direct access to you?"
Elkor replied, "Linda and you on Earth and three people on the factory station, Ed."
'Just two people on Earth?' I thought, 'He isn't exactly a socialite.'
"Does NASA have any involvement with station personnel?"
"Linda has already contacted me in this regard, Ed. Some NASA personnel have visited the station, of course, and some of NASA's personnel came to work for 3rd World, but NASA has no direct involvements with 3rd World Products."
"Thanks, Elkor. I'll leave that end of things to Linda, then. Do you have any negative thoughts or opinions about my actions?"
With his usual brevity Elkor said, "No, Ed."
"Well, let me know if you come up with any, okay? Also let me know if I've overlooked anything in the matter of keeping NASA from knowing the full capabilities of non-commercial flitters."
"I'll do that, Ed. Will there be anything else?"
"Nope. Thanks, Elkor."
Elkor said, "You're welcome," and broke the connection.
As Tiger had grown from kitten to cat, Elkor's presence around the house had gradually dwindled to simply being available via my comm implant.
At first I had thought that I might somehow have offended him and I'd asked him why he wasn't around the house as much as he'd been the first couple of years I'd known him.
He'd replied that he'd thought the necessity of his presence had lessened to a degree that allowed him to use his drone elsewhere and asked me if he'd been in error.
I said, "No, no problem, Elkor. I was just worried that I might have said or done something that caused you to leave."
"No, Ed, you didn't. I mean no offense, of course, but the levels of daily input acquired and interaction required seemed inadequate to justify keeping a drone there at all times."
I'd laughed and said, "You got bored, huh? I guess I can live with that. Glad it wasn't anything I said."
On Wednesday, Stephanie dug up the info she needed concerning flight 949's passenger list and flight path and we lifted to meet Jeffries' plane while it was still above the Atlantic and an hour or so from Tampa.
As I toyed with the field-generated aircraft-style yoke and rudder pedals Steph had programmed into existence, I said, "Controls off, please. You're driving today, Steph. Got a picture of Jeffries in your files?"
A screen field popped up to display a photo of a man in his early fifties. He had brownish-blonde hair and brown eyes that seemed to be examining the camera lens. It seemed to me to be the kind of face you'd find on someone who'd been places well off the beaten paths of society.
"That guy looks as if he's been around some," I said.
Steph said, "Look at this," and she put my passport photo up next to his picture.
The similarity was in the eyes. No, the similarity emanated from the eyes. There was a quality about each of the pictures that could make you approach those people with caution if you had any reason to approach them at all.
"Damn," I said. "I see what you mean, Steph. I've seen my face in a mirror every day and never noticed that. Guess I've just gotten used to it or something. 'To see ourselves as others see us', huh?"
Steph said, "Robert Burns was indeed an astute poet, however else he may have been lacking. Donald Jeffries began marketing gold and other precious metals in Central Africa during the seventies. He used to buy and resell, but since 1983 he's only brokered other peoples' holdings."
"Africa in the seventies. Well, damn, again. From the look of him, we may have known some of the same people in some of the same places."
"Shall I see what I can find in records of that time, Ed?"
Shaking my head, I said, "No, thanks. Don't waste processor time on it unless he says or does something to make a records search worth the trouble."
We met and matched speeds with flight 949 in full stealth mode to avoid spooking the flight crew. Jeffries was on the manifest as a first class passenger. As we flew alongside the plane, Steph adjusted some of the side of the canopy field to transparency and stationed us about fifty feet outside the proper windows.
I'd thought there'd be some buffeting from the wind so close to the plane, but there wasn't. Steph shaped her fields to compensate somehow.
"There's Jeffries," she said, pointing to one of the windows near the front.
"Let's give him a good, long look, then. Wave at him and smile and keep us precisely where we are in relation to the plane. The pilot may decide to veer away. Would you put me through to him, Steph? No video, just radio."
"Ready," she said.
"Thanks, ma'am."
I said, "Hello, flight 949. We're the flitter by your right wing, and we thought you'd probably like to know why we're hanging around out here."
After a couple of moments the pilot's tense British voice said, "Yes. Indeed we would, flitter. Identify yourself, please."
"Um, well, we don't have a flight number, 949. We just wanted to have a look at something before you tried to land that thing. Everything's fine, though. No sweat."
"You thought something was wrong with my ship?"
"Well, no, not really. We just wanted to check something, that's all. Like I said, things are fine, 949. Nothing's leaking or flapping in the breeze or anything like that. Sorry we bothered you, but it seemed like a good idea to have a look. I'm one of those 'better safe than sorry' people. Bye. Over and out."
I waved at Jeffries, then said, "He's had his look. We can head for the airport now, Steph."
She lifted us well clear of the plane, then put us in stealth mode and shot us ahead of the jet. When we arrived at Tampa International airport, Steph took us into the parking garage and we stepped off the flitter, then she sent the flitter to hover just above the garage's rooftop parking area.
As we approached the security checkpoint, I slipped my belt knife out of its sheath and tucked it lengthwise under the back of my belt, then twisted it so that the blade rested against the belt, giving it a lateral profile.
When we reached the checkpoint, Stephie walked through without registering on any sensors except the guard's eyeballs, which tracked her progress until I coughed politely.
I tossed my keys in the bucket he held out to me, turned my pewter belt buckle so that it was edgewise against my jeans, just like my knife, and walked through the checkpoint without setting off the alarm.
The guard watched me straighten my belt buckle and said, "Done this before a few times, huh?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Doesn't always work, though. Sometimes I have to hold the buckle an inch or so higher to make it through. The fields in the booth walls are lateral, but they're at different heights, depending on the manufacturer."
"You saying our machines are no good?"
"Nope. No terrorist is going to chance waltzing through one of these gadgets with his hardware." To change the subject, I asked, "Is flight 949 on the ground yet?"
As expected, the guard said, "I dunno. Check the monitors when you get to the concourse."
I set out walking ahead of Steph as we left the checkpoint so that she'd block the guard's view of me. While putting my wallet back in my pocket I palmed my knife out from under my belt and slipped it back into its sheath, then I slowed down to let her catch up with me.
Steph gave me an odd look as she came alongside me, but said nothing until we'd turned left onto the concourse to head for gate 41.
"Interesting," she said. "You apparently learned a few things about fields before you met me."
"Ah, my dear, lovely Stephanie," I said theatrically, "My whole life had merely been preparation for our meeting."
She laughed and said, "I could almost believe that sometimes." With a grin, she added, "But only almost."
As we passed the airport lounge I felt someone watching me and glanced around. A thirtyish blonde woman at one of the small tables by the concourse let her eyes fall to something on her table.
There was a hubbub going on at gate 41 and three airport security people were quick-marching toward the gate. I stopped walking and looked at Steph, then pretended to adjust her collar as I spoke.
"I'll bet that's about our fly-by, Steph. If anyone but Jeffries sees us, we could wind up talking to security goons and bureaucrats all night. I'll step into the restroom and turn on my three suit. We can catch Jeffries when he comes out of the gate or tail him to the baggage area to make contact."
She nodded agreement and we headed for the restrooms. Steph dematerialized just inside the right-hand alcove entrance. I headed into the left alcove and said, "Option three on," then turned around and reentered the concourse.
The blonde woman was frozen in the act of taking a sip of her drink, staring at the restroom alcoves. I realized that her angle of view would partially include the restroom doorway.
Oops. Did she see me -- or part of me -- disappear? She glanced around, then got up and moved a few tables away for a better look at the alcove. Yup. She'd seen it.
I walked over to watch her try to talk herself out of believing that she'd just seen someone disappear.
She simply stared at the alcove a little harder for a moment, then glanced at the drink in her hand and put it down on the tiny table before returning her gaze to the alcove.
The blonde then picked up a folded sheet of paper and studied it for a moment as she sipped her drink. I stepped quietly over to the table for a look at the paper. It was a computer-printed copy of my passport photo.
Interesting. She wasn't just an accidental observer. She was kind of cute, too. I studied her for a few moments. She chewed her lip thoughtfully, but didn't seem too disturbed about our disappearances as she returned her gaze to the alcove and sipped her drink.
Moderately amazing. She'd apparently almost instantly decided that she'd seen the impossible happen and then decided to simply roll with it. What were the odds of that?
She then folded the paper and put it back on the table. A few moments later, when she took a cigarette out of the pack on the table and reached for her lighter without taking her eyes off the alcove, I already had her lighter.
Her eyes narrowed as she glanced around the table for the lighter. I flicked it on about two feet from her face and held it toward her as I softly said, "Allow me."
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