Jennifer felt her entire body flashing red.

“You know, Ray, you can be a real jackass,” she said, grabbing the Zip disk as it popped out from its drive.

“What?” asked Rubeo.

“We’re not in Junior high.”

“Hmmmph,” said her boss. He touched his small gold earring nervously, but said nothing else as they walked to the elevator. The computer labs were housed in the same underground complex as the Megafortress project, a convenient arrangement when Jennifer’s main responsibilities were the computers governing flight operations for both the Megafortresses and the U/MFs. Now, however, her duties were much more diverse. She often found she had to travel either to one of the other bunker areas or to Taj, the main administrative building that also housed Dreamland Command and some of the labs dedicated to the UMB. While she could have a car or an SUV, Jennifer found it much more convenient to get around by bike. As they walked down the ramp, she reached into her pocket and took out two large rubber bands, which she used to keep her pants legs from fouling the chain.

“You’re not cycling, are you?” hissed Rubeo.

“Why not?”

“We’ll take my car.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Rubeo said something under his breath.

“You shouldn’t talk to yourself, Ray.” Jennifer stopped and rolled the bands over the legs of her jeans, refusing to make eye contact. “It just reinforces the eccentric stereotype.” She took out another band for her hair and tied it back, then picked up the bike and rode over to the Taj.

She parked her bike—there was no need to lock it at Dreamland—and went inside to the notoriously slow elevator as Rubeo appeared in the lobby doorway. Finished with its complicated security protocol, the elevator doors began to close. Under other circumstances, Jennifer would have pushed the hold button, and clearly Rubeo expected her to, walking toward her nonchalantly.

Too damn bad, she thought to herself, letting them slam closed as she looked right at him.

Chief Master Sergeant Terrence “Ax” Gibbs met her in the hallway outside Dog’s office.

“Ma,am, pleasure to see you,” said Ax. “Colonel’s inside; I’m on my way to get him a little coffee. You want a little something?”

“Not really.”

He smiled. “A pineapple Danish maybe?”

“Well, you twisted my arm. Thanks, Chief.”

“You know, you really should call me Ax,” he said.

“I’ll try to remember.”

He smiled, bowed—actually, really, truly, bowed—then vanished through the door to the stairway.

Jennifer went into Colonel Bastian’s outer office, a medium-sized bullpen dominated by Gibb’s desk. Sally, a staff sergeant who oversaw much of the paperwork in Ax’s absence, greeted her and told Jennifer the colonel was inside on the phone.

“I have to wait for Dr. Rubeo and Commander Delaford anyway,” said Jennifer. She sat down in one of the metal folding chairs lined up against the wall. The metal chairs had recently replaced a set of plush velour seats. Jennifer suspected that was Ax’s doing, not Colonel Bastian’s. the chief master sergeant had a simple but straightforward philosophy regarding visitors—discourage them as much as possible. Most of the scientist grumbled privately about the hard seats; the military people didn’t seem to notice.

“So you beat me,” said Rubeo, entering the office. He looked out of breath, as if he had taken the stairs, though that was unlikely. “Congratulations.”

“I didn’t know it was a race.”

“The colonel is off the phone,” said Sally.

“He expects us,” said Rubeo. “Is Delaford in there?”

Before the sergeant could say anything, Rubeo pushed inside with a brisk but short knock. Jennifer followed a few paces behind; there was no reason to wait now.

“We’re ready to deploy Piranha,” said Rubeo before he even sat down. “The new E-PROMs will be down within the hour. All we have to do is select a recovery site for them to default to.”

“Already?” said Colonel Bastian.

Rubeo touched his small gold earring. “Of course.”

Anyone else saying that might have smiled. The scientist was dead serious and even a little dismissive.

Jennifer watched as a small smile curled at the corner of Colonel Bastian’s mouth. She hated calling him Dog; Tecumseh was such a beautiful, different name, and it described him perfectly—tough and solid, protective, yet capable in a gently way. It suggested thick muscles and, at the same time, nooks where you cold let your fingers linger.

“Some of the Navy people are drawing up plans for a makeshift warhead,” added Rubeo. “There are guidance issues, however.”

“I doubt it’ll be necessary.”

“Gives them something to do,” said Rubeo. “Otherwise, they tend to bother my people.”

That wasn’t true—the Navy people and the Dreamland scientists got along very well.

Ax opened the door, backing in with a tray of coffee and soda. Lieutenant Commander Delaford came in behind him, looking rumpled and tired. He’d left the computer lab about an hour before to take a nap.

“Don’t you ever knock?” Rubeo asked Ax.

“Hey, Doc, got you some of that green tea you like. Got some coffee for your Navy friend, needs it. Pepsi for you, ma’am. Diet, of course.”