Chapter Two
Steph laughed softly and said, "I really didn't think you would. What are you going to do now?"
"I'm going to sleep on it during the flight to Iraq."
A human woman might have yelped, "You're going over there?!" or something of that nature. Not Stephanie. Her eyes remained fixed on mine as she canted her head slightly, studying me for a moment.
"Ed, Linda might object. Strenuously."
"That's why I hadn't planned to mention it to her. This is a personal matter. An old friend asked for my help."
"An 'old friend'? Is that what you call someone who hasn't contacted you for twenty-two years?"
Sipping coffee, I replied, "Well, she isn't an old enemy, is she? And she isn't a total stranger, so I'll call her a friend. Of sorts. Close enough. How's Sue doing at the factory station?"
With a slight shrug, Steph said, "As expected. Her Lorunan citizenship will be finalized on Thursday and she and Sara are constructing a separate, automated facility for production of PFM components."
I grinningly muttered, "Cool. I always knew she'd amount to something someday."
Steph chuckled, "It's been a whole week, Ed. Do you miss her much?"
Nodding, I said, "Oh, hell, yes. But it was time. She gave me a year of service and an extra month of sharing her self-discovery. I felt honored and privileged to be part of that extra month, but I knew it had to end on schedule."
Meeting her gaze, I sighed, "And I said essentially the same thing the night she left, so what you were really asking was whether I'm ready for another one. No, I'm not. Unless you absolutely have to uncork another one for some reason, I'd prefer some time more or less on my own."
"More or less?"
"Yes, more or less. If I get in a real pinch in the meantime, I can call on you, Sue, or Elkor, can't I?"
"Of course."
Leaning to kiss her, I said, "Thank you, milady. When you make the new one, will she be a lot like you? You spoiled me for all others, you know."
Manufacturing a sigh, Steph wryly said, "If I'd spoiled you, Sue would have had a much more difficult time with you. But thank you for the sentiment, of course. You said you were going to sleep on the way, so I'll say goodnight now."
Steph popped out of existence and I began packing for the trip. How long away? Unknown. Better toss in another few cans of soup and veggies and restock the cooler. If I run short, I can hop over to Israel and find a decent grocery store.
I tossed some jeans and shirts in a small suitcase and used a plastic shopping bag to carry my cowboy boots, then put everything by the front door and went to shower and shave while I considered what else I might need.
As I made a fresh coffee, Tiger came through the front cat door and sniffed my bags, then asked, "Where do you go?"
"Iraq. It's a country on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. Remember the pictures of Iran?"
"Yes."
"Iraq is right next door to Iran. It's almost exactly the same kind of place, in fact, but right now there's a war going on in Iraq. I'm going to try to find the son of an old friend."
He seemed to give the matter some thought, then asked, "Will Stephanie or Sue go with you?"
"Nope. Not Elkor, either. I may have to do things that would be... difficult for them."
After another moment's thought, he said, "I must go, too."
Meeting his gaze, I said, "You didn't like what I showed you of Iran. I can guarantee you won't like Iraq, either."
Tiger sat down and spoke firmly.
"You will be alone there. I must go, too."
Well, damn.
I asked, "Who's going to watch the house?"
"I have been watching this house all of my life. Nothing happens when you aren't here."
He had a point, there. He'd be aboard the flitter, too. No place was safer than that, really. What the hell. I said, "Okay," and added a ten-pound bag of cat food to the luggage pile.
Tiger asked, "Can we take my chair, too?"
With a glance at the sofa chair, I laughed. "Too big. How about we just take the cushion?" I went to the chair, took the cushion off it, and placed it on the floor. Tiger stepped onto it, curled up, re-curled himself, and pronounced it suitable.
Once everything and everybody was aboard the flitter, I told it to take us to the all-night grocery store at Northcliffe and Mariner, where I loaded a cart with some cat treats, a big jar of instant coffee, and enough beer, tea, and dr pepper to fill the flitter's cooler.
Hm. Chances were good I'd have to meet and greet a bit. I added three cases each of the drinkables and tossed in some assorted snacks that were likely to be rare in a war zone, then checked out and loaded everything aboard.
"Flitter," I said, "We're going to Iraq. Get Tom Levine's last-known GPS coordinates from Stephanie, please, make the trip last eight hours, and park us twenty miles above the GPS point. Oh, and wake me when we get there with the new chime program at volume three."
Tiger took his usual place on the console 'dashboard' as we launched into the night sky. I refilled the cooler, then called up a field bed and stretched out for the night.
I woke to the bell-chime tones of Marilyn Manson's version of 'Sweet Dreams' and let it continue playing as I sent a field tendril to warm up my coffee and swilled some of it.
As the chimes-only chunk of the tune began to play a third time, I said, "Okay, flitter. I'm officially awake now," and the music stopped.
I'd left around midnight, so it was eight-something plus six hours in Iraq, or a bit after two in the afternoon. After making a fresh coffee, eating a can of chicken noodle soup, and brushing my teeth, I called up a field screen and located Tom Levine's company headquarters.
"Flitter, send a probe to the company commander's office and see if you can find any paperwork with Sergeant Tom Levine's name or serial number on it, please. Send any info you find to my datapad. In the meantime, take us down and maintain an average height of one mile above the ground."
As we descended, I said, "Tiger, this is your chance to get off the flitter for a little while. Your nose is better than mine for following things. I'd like you to see if you can figure out where somebody went."
In fact, I had no real doubt that the men had been picked up, but a second opinion from someone with some inherent tracking ability couldn't hurt.
When the flitter stopped descending, I called up my board and my three and five suits, then Tiger and I zipped down to the most forward of the crushed grain patches.
Tiger hopped off the board and began exploring intently as I studied what remained of boot prints and other markings on the ground within the damaged area.
As I scanned the area, something I'd seen on the field screen the night before that hadn't seemed to make any sense suddenly flashed to clarity in my mind.
Some of the boot prints had been marred as if by something being dragged over them. They hadn't been obliterated; just scuffed and marred in a generally straight direction.
Where the scuffings of the dirt began and ended, the tops of grainstalks had been broken or damaged in a narrow path to varying degrees for some distance in two directions, as if something had been dragged through the field. Rope slings or ladders?
"They flew away," said Tiger, "They came here, but didn't go back the way they came. This one's tracks end here."
Looking at the spot in front of his nose, I saw that the toes of someone's boots had dug deeply into the soil and dragged a bit, likely as the rope took his weight off the ground.
Pointing at the damaged stalks and scuff marks beyond, I said, "A helicopter came, but it didn't land; it dropped ropes for them. The men hooked themselves to the ropes and were lifted out of the field."
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