"I want to see him." Sam thumped her hand on Thomas's mahogany desk. "You gave your word."
He stood on the other side of his large oak desk, even more military than usual in his crisp blue uniform. Three stars gleamed on each shoulder and rows of ribbons bedecked his chest, including his Joint Service Commendation with two oak-leaf clusters. Sam knew he had many medals as well, including the Purple Heart, but he wore them only on formal occasions. Framed certificates on the wall showed his many and varied credentials. An American flag hung from a pole on his right and the blue Air Force flag with its eagle emblem stood to the left. His desk was clear of papers, but it had a holograph of his wife and daughters on one side and a holo of Sam and her father on the other.
Right now he looked far less amiable than the smiling man in those pictures. "Sam, you aren't objective where Turner is concerned."
"You said we would be apart a few minutes. It's been ten hours." She had slept most of that time, a guest at Thomas's home in Chevy Chase, Maryland, the house he and his wife had bought years ago before she passed away. The rest of the time Sam had spent with him and his NIA team, exchanging information. Most of her debriefing had taken place in a conference room at the Pentagon, one of the locations where the NIA had headquarters. When she and Thomas had finally come to his office, she had hoped to see Turner, but no such luck. Until she spoke to him, she feared to say too much about Charon or Sunrise Alley, uncertain how it would affect Turner.
"You have to let me see him," she said. "I had trouble enough convincing him to come in. He agreed only because he trusted me. He sure as hell doesn't trust any of you, and now he might think I turned on him, too."
Thomas came around the desk to her. "Dr. O'Reilly wants to talk with you and Turner separately."
"Dr. O'Who?"
"O'Reilly. He's the psychiatrist on this case."
She crossed her arms. "I don't need to see a damned shrink."
"Sam." He leaned against the desk. "General Chang doesn't want you talking to Turner. And she outranks me."
That was certainly an understatement. Chang, a four-star general, was the Pentagon's deputy director of Defense Intelligence, which made her Thomas's boss.
"This place has too much brass," Sam grumbled.
He smiled slightly. "It's the Pentagon. It's supposed to have brass."
"When do I see Turner?"
"Don't you think your relationship is a bit" He cleared his throat. "Unusual?"
"No."
"Sam."
"Oh, all right." She dropped her arms. "Yes, it's unusual. So what? He means a lot to me. And I'll tell you something else, Thomas. He's far more likely to cooperate with your people if you let him see me."
He considered her. "That could be an effective argument."
Hah! "So he is refusing to cooperate, eh?"
"I'm not at liberty to discuss it."
She grinned. "Well, if his lack of cooperation that you aren't at liberty to discuss is a problem, I can help."
Thomas answered dryly. "We will see."
The drive took several hours. Sam and Thomas went in a black hover-limo, long and sleek. In the distance, the supple column of the space tether rose from the Virginia countryside into the blue sky, glittering in the sunlight, higher and higher until it dwindled to a point. Satellite-controlled traffic flowed smoothly through the streets of Washington, D.C., which only a few decades ago had been so congested it could take an hour to travel a few miles. Now many of the roads were repaved and restricted to hover traffic, all under control of city grids that kept congestion to a minimum. For those who wanted even faster transportation, the magrail curved over the city, its silver arches gllistening. A mag-train hummed along a rail a few blocks away, gleaming against the sky.
They left D.C., entering the suburbs of Virginia, and the early-morning traffic dropped off. They traveled through sparsely settled areas with large houses set far back from the road and surrounded by expansive lawns or angled woods. Every now and then they passed a sweeper-bot discreetly rolling along the road, cleaning up trash.
Eventually they left the settled areas and entered more rugged country closer to the Appalachian Mountains, heading through forests of pine, hemlock, wild cherry, and poplar, and some younger white oak trees. They ended up at a facility hidden in a valley and surrounded by an invisible fence that hummed when the guards passed them through. The place resembled a hospital, but with a genteel architecture that made Sam think of a castle. The grounds sloped gracefully with well-tended lawns, scattered pine groves, and deciduous trees brilliant with the yellow, orange, and red leaves of a late but warm autumn. Paths wound across the lawns, bordered by azalea bushes, and curved around graceful but abstract sculptures designed in arcs of bronzed metal.
Inside, Thomas took her down wide corridors with blue-and-gold-patterned carpets and holoart on the walls. O'Reilly came with them, a stout man with a round, ruddy face and bulbous nose. Sam gritted her teeth when Thomas also brought two guards. They were behaving as if Turner were a criminal when he was the one who had suffered from the crimes.
They stopped at a locked door. Thomas opened it into a room that, although sunny and well furnished, looked like it belonged in a hospital. Turner sat sprawled in an armchair, his legs stretched out on the coffee table, his elbow propped up on the arm of the chair while he read a holobook. He could have downloaded the book straight into his matrix, but it didn't surprise Sam that he chose to read. Although he existed as an EI, he thought like a man, with human preferences. Perhaps someday he might electronically ingest his entertainment, but not yet.
He looked up warily, then jumped to his feet, the book dropping to the floor. "Sam!"
"Hi." She went over and started to reach to him, then stopped when she remembered everyone watching. Turner responded in much the same way, freezing in mid-motion with his arms up, then lowering them back to his sides. So they stood, suddenly awkward with each other.
"I wondered what happened to you." His expression warmed as he took in her appearance. "You look nice."
Sam responded as she always did when someone complimented her; she got nervous. Then she told herself to stop it. The days when she was an awkward kid were long gone. Besides, she had chosen her white jeans and flowered top specifically for him, knowing they set off her figure. So she smiled and said, "Thanks."
He motioned at his suite. "Like my cell?"
"I noticed." Sam could see Thomas and O'Reilly in her side vision. She wished they would go away. It wasn't going to happen, though, so she turned and glared at Thomas. "Why is Turner here?"
Thomas leaned on the edge of the console near where he stood, seemingly relaxed. Sam knew him too well to be fooled; he was wound up as tight as a coil. He spoke to Turner. "Are you uncomfortable here?"
"I feel like I'm in prison." Turner gave O'Reilly a puzzled look. "Who are you?"
The psychiatrist came forward. He would have been taller than Turner Pascal, but this Turner topped him by three inches. "Major Jim O'Reilly." He offered his hand. "I'm a doctor."
Turner shook hands warily, and apparently with more force than he realized, given the doctor's wince. Sam had to give O'Reilly credit; he never blinked when his human hand made contact with Turner's cables.
"What kind of doctor?" Turner asked.
"Psychiatrist," O'Reilly said.
Turner narrowed his gaze. "You going to shrink my biomechanical brain?"
"I'd just like to talk to you."
"Why?"
"No one like you has existed before." O'Reilly spoke with respect. "You're a form of life unlike anything this world has known."
Turner didn't look particularly honored by the distinction. "So you thought I would be more amenable if Sam was here."
Oh, well. It didn't surprise her that he figured it out. "It was my idea," Sam said. "So they would let me see you."
He started to reach for her again, stopped again, and swore under his breath. Then he quit resisting and drew her into his arms despite their audience. "Whatever the reason, I'm glad you're here."
Sam was acutely aware of everyone in the room; she had always been self-conscious about any show of affection in public. Her entire family was that way. But she missed Turner so very much. Although she knew, logically, it had only been a few hours since she had seen him, it seemed forever. She hugged him and he felt good in her arms.
Turner bent his head. When he kissed her, his cabled arms pressing her back, she almost jerked away. She had never kissed a man in front of other people before. Maybe it was the restraint of her English background; she didn't know. But if she recoiled from Turner now, the doctor would make who-knew-what annoying analysis of her behavior, and Thomas would assume it was revulsion on her part and start his paternal challenges with Turner again. So she kissed Turner back and discovered he felt just as warm and inviting even when she was embarrassed.
Some time later he lifted his head and looked at her. Sam's cheeks were burning, but her smile came naturally.
Turner looked over her head at Thomas. "I'll cooperate with you on one condition."
"What is that?" Thomas sounded disconcerted, an unusual state for him.
"That Sam and I can get married," Turner said.
That she didn't expect. "Uh, excuse me," Sam said. "I think you're supposed to ask me first."
His face became tender as he looked at her. "Want to marry me?"
Sam knew that no one would let them marry. For one thing, legally Turner was dead. For another, no one had figured out how human laws applied to formas. Besides, she had only known him a few days, not enough for a wedding even if no other obstacles existed, like his not being exactly human.
Then again, maybe that was the point. He had hit on a way to assert his rights: only people could marry. Not machines. She had a thousand and one reasons to be reluctant, but maybe for once in her life she should stop analyzing and go with her instincts.
"All right." Despite her intent to be pragmatic, she blushed like a kid. "I'll marry you."
Turner's mouth opened. He snapped it closed, then grinned. "Hah! I can't believe you agreed."
Sam laughed. "Well, I did."
He beamed at Thomas and O'Reilly. "The lady said yes."
Sam turned around. Thomas seemed bewildered. It was a singularly unique occurrence; she had seen him in many moods but never confused.
"You can't marry," he told them.
O'Reilly cleared his throat. "Mr. Pascal"
Turner turned with a smile that made Sam think of the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland. "Call me Turner."
"Turner, yes." O'Reilly rubbed his chin. "This is a rather anomalous proposition."
Turner's eyes gleamed. "I propositioned her days ago. Now I want to make it legal."
O'Reilly's round cheeks turned red. "I don't think you can do that."
Sam hadn't expected any other response. She looked from O'Reilly to Thomas. "You see, don't you? Humanity has to face it sooner or later. What are self-aware formasconstructs or people? Possession or citizen?"
"If you mean our actions here will set a baseline for the future," Thomas said. "Then yes, I agree. All the more reason to use caution."
Sam thought of Bart and the other EIs, forms of life different enough from her own that she only fathomed the edges of their intelligence. Sunrise Alley. It would only grow larger and more powerful each year. The alley would become a thoroughfare, a city, a world. A universe.
"If we make a mistake now," Sam said. "If we do this wrong, without foresight, we will set up the human race for more grief than you can imagine. How you treat Turner now matters."
O'Reilly considered her thoughtfully. Then he spoke to Turner. "It is true, your DNA corresponds to Turner William Pascal. I've no doubt you were made from him."
"I wasn't made from him," Turner said. "I am him."
"But where do you end?" O'Reilly asked. "How much can you be rebuilt before you are no longer a man?"
"You're asking him to define the soul," Sam murmured. "Only God can do that."
"Perhaps," Thomas said. "Unfortunately we need a legal definition."
Turner regarded him steadily. "I feel no less as if I have a soul now than before the accident."
Sam went over to Thomas. "His limbs aren't that different from prosthetics. Many people have transplanted or synthetic organs in their bodies. We consider them human."
"They don't have EI matrices for brains," Thomas said. "They don't run on microfusion reactors."
Turner spoke bitterly. "So I'm human if you replace my heart with a pump, even if it bears no resemblance to my original heart, but I'm not human if my matrix is a copy of my original brain."
"It's become more." O'Reilly spread his hands out from his sides. "We don't have answers."
"Charon thinks he does," Turner said.
"He told you?" Sam asked. She couldn't tell how many of his memories about Charon came from the copy he carried in his matrix and how much from his two weeks with Charon in Oregon. If Thomas found out Turner had a copy of Charon in his mind, he would lock Turner up so tight, the former bellboy wouldn't even be able to breathe without monitors recording every move of his muscles.
Turner was watching her face. After a pause that went on too long, he said, "Yes, Charon told me." He had the restrained quality she recognized now; he was tweaking the truth. He had probably picked up Charon's opinion from the copy in his matrix. That she could read Turner so well implied he was more human than machine; otherwise, he could have simulated less emotion, so he didn't give himself away.
Sam rubbed the back of her neck, working on the muscle kinks. "Thomas, I need to talk with Turner alone."
"I don't think it is wise," Thomas said.
"Oh, why the hell not?" Sam said. "You're going to listen on monitors anyway."
The lights flickered.
"What the blazes?" Thomas spoke to one of the guards. "Lieutenant Dreymore, check that brownout with operations."
"Right away, sir." The lieutenant turned over his hand, which was sheathed in a black glove, and traced his finger over a panel woven in its mesh.
As Dreymore worked, Sam discreetly studied Turner. Was he tampering with the power here? If he ran off from this place like he had from everywhere else, she was going to scorch his ears when she caught up with him.
Turner shook his head slightly, his face puzzled. He didn't seem to know what was happening any more than she did.
Thomas was watching them. "I'd sure be curious to know what that exchange meant."
Sam flushed. Busted. Thomas could read her just as well as she could read him. "I wondered if Turner caused that brownout. He said no."
Thomas glanced at the lieutenant. "Dreymore?"
The guard looked up from his glove. "Everything appears fine, sir. Just a power glitch."
"Keep checking," Thomas said.
"Yes, sir."
Thomas considered Turner. "My people say they can't even fully analyze all the systems in your body. They think you've been shifting things around, building your own biomech components. Care to tell us what you're doing?"
"Why?" Turner asked. "You'll keep at me until you figure it out anyway."
"We don't want to cause you harm," O'Reilly said. "Neither physical nor emotional."
Turner's gaze became intent. "Then you admit it is possible to cause a forma emotional harm."
"At this point," O'Reilly said, "I don't know what to think. But yes, I acknowledge it."
The lights went off.
Thomas spoke sharply. "Dreymore, what's going on?"
The glow of Dreymore's glove lit the room. "The situation is under control, sir. The submesh that runs the environment for this building is having problems. Security is on it. They'll have the lights back in a moment."
Sam slanted a look at Turner. He seemed as baffled as everyone else, but she couldn't be sure. At Hockman, the element of surprise had given him an edge in his escape; in Iowa, the EIs had inadvertently helped when they linked him into their mesh. He no longer had surprise here and the NIA wouldn't willingly give him access to any mesh. This place undoubtedly blocked wireless signals. And Thomas's people would have already incorporated new defenses into their systems to counter what Turner had done at Hockman.
Thomas studied Turner. "You have anything to do with this?"
Turner met his gaze. "No. Nothing."
The lights came back on.
"Keep on it, Lieutenant," Thomas told Dreymore. "I'll need a full report as soon as possible."
"Yes, sir. Right away." While Dreymore worked on his glove, the other guard stood ramrod straight by the door, his hand on the staser in a holster at his hip.
Thomas turned to Sam. "You know I can't leave you alone with him."
"I would never hurt her," Turner said hotly.
Sam thought she had better diffuse their confrontation before they both started growling. "The mesh problems here might come from Sunrise Alley. If Bart is the EI that ran the Baltimore Arms Resources Theatre, he could know about this place."
Thomas's face became neutral. "I wouldn't know."
I'll bet, Sam thought. He wore that noncommittal look whenever he didn't intend to reveal information. To her, his lack of response gave away almost as much as if he had admitted he knew about Bart.
Dreymore spoke to Thomas. "Sir, I've a message from General Chang. She's called a meeting, fifteen hundred hours, at the Pentagon."
"Thank you, Lieutenant." Thomas glanced at Sam. "You had better come back with me."
Turner moved closer to her. "Why? Neither she nor I have done anything wrong."
"If that's the case," Thomas said, "you won't mind talking with Dr. O'Reilly."
"Why the hell should I talk to your shrink?"
"Well, for one," Thomas said, "he's an expert in EIs. He might be able to tell you about yourself."
Sam would have laughed if she hadn't felt so on edge right now. Thomas had hit on one of the few things that might convince Turner to cooperatehis curiosity about his own development.
Turner wasn't fooled, though. "Or I might tell him about myself, eh? I've no interest in discussing my childhood traumas with your doctor."
Sam laid her hand on his arm. "Turner, suppose Bart or the others break in here. They meant to kill me."
He motioned at Thomas. "You think if I cooperate with these people it will help protect you?"
"Yes. And you, too."
"I need to talk to you alone."
"You must realize we can't do that," Thomas said.
Turner copied his tone exactly. "And you must realize I can't cooperate with you."
Thomas lifted his hands, palms up, then dropped them again. "Why not? We're on your side."
"I told you my condition." Turner put his arm around Sam's shoulders. "Get the justice of the peace and I'll tell you anything you want to know."
Sam knew Thomas would refuse. If they let Turner marry, it would be a tacit acknowledgment of his humanity and citizenship. They were setting precedents and Thomas disliked haste. Acknowledging Turner's humanity would also make it that much harder to control him. Thomas was a man of principle, but she didn't doubt he had also thought what it would mean to have an army of Turners at his disposal.
To her surprise, Thomas didn't immediately say no. Instead, he spoke to her. "Do you really want this?"
Sam's throat tingled the way it did when she was nervous. "Yes."
"It's crazy." He motioned at Turner. "Your father would be dismayed. You deserve someone who can be a true husband to you. A father to your children. A partner."
"I appreciate your concern," Sam said. "But Thomas, I have to make those decisions for myself."
"You must realize we can't do this," he said.
"Sure you can," Turner told him. An edge came into his voice. "You won't because it makes it harder for you to use me."
"That isn't true," O'Reilly said. "What you're asking has no precedent. We must consider the ramifications. The legalities. We can't rush into it."
Had the bride been most anyone else, Sam wondered if they might have pretended to go along so they could gain Turner's cooperation. But that would never work with her involved.
Thomas spoke to Sam. "We have to leave. I'm sorry."
Turner started to respond, his face flushed, his body tensed. Then he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. When he turned away from Thomas and drew Sam into his arms, she hugged him, wishing she had a solution to this mess.
"We have to talk to them," she murmured.
He didn't answer, he only kissed her, his lips warm, his arms ridged against her back. Her inclination to privacy would have made her pull away, but this might be her last chance to see him for a long time. So instead she molded against him, deepening the kiss.
Someone cleared his throat. With reluctance, Sam let Turner go. "I'll see you soon."
He looked down into her face. "Don't be long, okay?"
"Okay." She intended to keep that promise.
Then she left with Thomas.